


Drabbles

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2018-06-01 10:43:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 60,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6514894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles and challenges, mostly from Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A/N: For Psythia who requested #23 from the 54 Writing Prompts, “Is that my shirt?”

  
  


Warnings: language

Pairings: 2x3

 

_ Twenty Three _

 

“This is pathetic, you get that, right?”

Duo glared but Wufei, as supremely unconcerned by Duo’s ire as he always had been, didn’t appear phased by the irritation in Duo’s eyes.

“You’re basically Prince Charming looking for Cinderella at this point. It was… misguided but typical Duo at first, when you were just going around our dorm room asking if anyone knew who had dressed up as Zorro for Halloween, but when you started posting about it on Yik Yak and twitter it got sad. But now?  _ Now? _ ”

“You know,” Duo finally spoke up as he took a flier out of his mouth and taped it to the wall of the science building, smoothing his hand down over the illustration of Zorro’s mask and the words  _ Have you seen this man? Please call Duo -7892 _ , “no one asked you to tag along.”

“If by no one you mean  _ you _ didn’t ask me to, I am well aware.”

Duo frowned at the wording and then sighed. “Hilde. Hilde told you to tag along.”

Wufei sniffed and affected a long-suffering expression. “She asked me to supervise this delusional manhunt, yes.”

Duo rolled his eyes. Sometimes it was nice to have friends who cared. Sometimes it was annoying as hell.

He counted out the fliers in his hand - another twelve left and he still wanted to head over to the Student Center and the library before he had to go to work in half an hour.

“C’mon, we need to head across campus,” he told Wufei.

His roommate sighed but fell into step beside him as they left the science building and walked back out into the harsh winter weather.

“You realize you’ve become a joke on our floor,” Wufei said, shoulders hunched against the wind and the cold.

“I was  _ always _ a joke on our floor,” Duo muttered in response, flicking his long braid in Wufei’s direction to emphasize his point.

Wufei rolled his eyes.

“You can’t tell me this guy you hooked up with on Halloween was  _ so _ amazing that you have to find him again but you didn’t even think to get his name?”

Duo flushed. 

“I… we didn’t actually hook up.”

Wufei arched an eyebrow.

“We just talked.”

“You barricaded yourself into Hilde’s room for  _ three hours _ to talk to this guy while we were stuck using the third floor bathroom and you didn’t even get his name?”

“Okay, if you two sex maniacs could just, you know, not have  _ sex _ every time you start to argue about justice and the environment or whatever you could have waited until later instead of having to fuck in a bathtub. And we were talking about other stuff.”

“ _ Like what _ ?”

Duo shrugged and turned away. “Just stuff.” 

They had talked about everything - from the Star Wars posters all over Hilde’s room to their unease about the Presidential election the next week and their hopes for a Bernie victory to their mutual loathing of peanut butter. Duo had never connected with someone so quickly - and maybe it had been the six shots of tequila he had done with Wufei and Hilde when he first arrived at the party, but Duo had felt a genuine and deep connection with Zorro. 

He had first spotted him across the crowded living room of the house, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed and cape arrayed  _ perfectly _ as he surveyed the party with what looked like boredom behind his mask, his wide lips tilted upwards in a laconic smirk. Their eyes had met and Duo had felt the tequila kick in  _ very _ fast - so fast that he and Zorro were stumbling up the stairs, away from the party, hands and mouths all over each other, without saying  _ anything _ to each other at all. They had only stopped kissing, only stopped trying to reach for each other’s dicks, when Duo tripped over the stuffed Ewok  near the foot of Hilde’s bed and Zorro had caught him, had actually laughed when Duo called himself a  _ dude _ in distress and from that moment, even though the sexual tension was there, they had just sat and talked. And talked until Duo fell asleep leaning against Zorro’s shoulder.

When he woke the next morning, Zorro was gone and Duo was naked. He’d managed to find most of his clothes - Hilde and Wufei had decided to hide them all over the house as revenge for losing out on the chance to fuck horizontally instead of vertically that night - except for his shirt.

The t-shirt, Duo’s  _ only _ effort to put on a costume for the party that he hadn’t wanted to go to in the first place, was a long sleeved tuxedo t-shirt that Duo knew, from several lengthy diatribes on the subject, annoyed the shit out of Wufei.

He suspected that instead of hiding the shirt, Wufei had decided to burn it and he was still thinking of how to best avenge the much loathed piece of clothing.

Still of thinking of that, and of Zorro.

“When I said you needed a rebound after Heero, you spending three hours talking to some guy in a mask wasn’t what I meant,” Wufei huffed.

Duo gave him a look. “You’d rather I spent three hours fucking him?”

Wufei nodded.

“Sex doesn’t solve every problem, you get that, right?”

Wufei smirked. “Maybe you’re not doing it right.”

Duo managed to control his shudder. It just wasn’t  _ right _ to hear about the sex of life of his best friend since childhood - Hilde - and his uptight roommate who bizarrely treated sex like something he was double majoring in.

They made it to the library and took a moment to just stand in the heat and thaw out before Duo headed towards the coffee shop and the cork boards set up for students to post fliers on.

He had to wait for a few students to finish adding obscene amounts of sugar to their coffees before he could get to them, but then he posted yet another flier, keeping his head down because as much as he tried to seem unconcerned by how lame this course of action was, he was very,  _ very _ aware of what an idiot he must seem.

Flier up, Duo turned and bumped into someone.

“Shit.”

He didn’t know who said it - himself or the unfortunate student whose way  _ way _ too hot coffee was soaking through Duo’s clothes and -

Duo frowned, momentarily distracted from the heat and wet of the coffee as he looked at the t-shirt of the student.

At the tuxedo t-shirt of the student.

“Is that my shirt?”

He looked up,  _ way _ up and  _ holy shit _ .

It was Zorro.

Amused green eyes, no longer behind a black mask but now obscured by auburn hair. Laconic smirk on a mouth that really must have been genetically engineered to be that distracting.

“Zorro?”

The smirk increased and the eyes turned warm.

“Duo.”

  
  


-o-

  
  



	2. 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Ry

A/N: For Ry who requested #30 from 54 Writing Prompts, “Do you think you could just please go one day without pissing me off?” With 2x3

  
  


Warnings: language

Pairings: 2x3

 

_ Thirty _

 

The cupboards had been reorganized.

Trowa opened the one above the coffeemaker, the one that  _ should _ have held the coffee mugs, specifically  _ his _ travel mug, and instead was confronted with the collection of porcelain cats that had decorated the mantle of the fireplace when they first moved into the apartment.

Trowa opened the next cupboard.

Plates.

Pilsners.

Shot glasses.

Tupperware.

More plates.

Bowls.

Little plates.

Canned goods.

Plates -

_ How many fucking plates did they even have? _

Heero chose that moment to walk into the kitchen. He surveyed the ten open cupboard doors in silence and walked past Trowa to open the fridge.

“Hn.”

Heero stood, staring at the fridge, and Trowa felt his annoyance and dismay over the cabinets morph into fear.

What had happened to the fridge?

Trowa stepped up behind Heero and saw that it, too, had been subjected to reorganization and what looked like a more thorough cleaning than it had probably ever seen before. 

Everything was arranged by color. Water, vodka, milk, mustard, lemon juice, orange preserves, ketchup -

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Trowa muttered.

Heero shook his head, grabbed one of his sickeningly green breakfast smoothies - sandwiched between two bottles of Heineken and a green-labeled container of parmesan cheese, and closed the fridge.

Trowa sighed and turned back to the cupboards, wondering if there was any chance of finding his coffee mug without having to go and  _ ask _ .

Heero leaned against the stove and watched him fruitlessly open a few more cupboards.

“He’s awake,” Heero offered between sips.

Trowa glared. “I’m sure he is. He’s probably counting down the minutes until I go in there and ask him where my damn mug is.”

Heero nodded in agreement. “Probably.”

Trowa asked himself, not for the first time,  _ why _ he had agreed to move off campus and into an apartment with Heero and his best friend and baseball teammate, Duo. 

Heero was fine - more than fine. He and Trowa had dated, briefly, before deciding that, as good as the sex was, they were better suited as friends than anything else. But Duo…

It was like he had decided his sole purpose in life - outside of maintaining unbelievably high grades considering his devotion to baseball and partying - was to annoy Trowa. It had started the very first day after they moved in, when Duo had barged into the bathroom, without knocking, to interrupt Trowa while he shaved before taking a shower. Duo had stood there, staring at Trowa’s naked body, for a full minute before Trowa cleared his throat and Duo flushed. He’d expected the other man to leave - had  _ wanted _ him to - but instead Duo had smirked, offered up a way too chipper “good morning” and asked Trowa when he could catch the next performance.

This - reorganizing the cupboards and the fridge - was only yet  _ another _ example of all the ways Duo went out of his way to annoy the shit out of Trowa.

He finally gave up and left the kitchen, stormed down the hall and, not even bothering to knock, opened Duo’s bedroom door.

Duo was, surprisingly, still in bed. He was almost always the first one up of the three of them, always lurking in the kitchen or the bathroom with way too much too say that early in the day.

He jumped when Trowa banged the door open, though, and blinked red, swollen eyes at Trowa.

_ What the hell? _

It looked like he had been crying.

Trowa was momentarily thrown by that and he found himself wondering what had happened. Probably someone had told Duo off for being the utterly annoying shit that he was.

“Where is my mug?” Trowa growled.

It took Duo a moment, he rubbed at his eyes and shifted around under the blankets and Trowa glared.

“Oh. Right. Sorry. I was - last night was weird and I just had to  _ do _ something, you know, to  -”

“Where is it?” Trowa interrupted, knowing that Duo might launch into a fifteen minute monologue if he didn’t head him off immediately.

“Top rack of the dishwasher if no one’s unloaded it. It was in the sink last night and I -”

“I didn’t ask you to wash it.”

“Yeah, because you’re under the delusion that you don’t actually  _ need _ to wash it and -”

“If it melted -”

“I checked the fucking heat settings. It should be  _ fine _ ,” Duo was glaring himself, now, clutching his comforter and looking, for once, uncomfortable with Trowa’s ire.

Trowa had the sudden realization that he was being an ass, that he had overreacted and - and he had just stormed in here and yelled at Duo for washing his coffee mug for him. 

He sighed.

“Last night was weird?”

Duo frowned and he looked wary, as though expecting Trowa’s words to lead to a trap.

Trowa gestured at Duo’s face. “You’re… upset or something. What happened?”

Duo snorted and shook his head. “Forget it man. None of your fucking concern.”

Trowa was taken aback by the uncharacteristic ice in Duo’s voice.

“Duo -”

“If you don’t mind, my morning class was cancelled and I’d like to get some sleep so could you kindly get the fuck out?”

 

-o-

 

It wasn’t until that afternoon, as Trowa settled into his normal chair in the middle of the lecture hall for Russian History, that Trowa even saw Duo again. Despite both being history majors, they had never had a single class in common except for this one. All history majors were required to take at least one course in European history, so, even though Trowa was concentrating on American history and Duo on Middle Eastern, they had taken Russian History because the professor was a vocal and unapologetic anarchist whose lectures tended to devolve into diatribes against the failures of capitalism.

Usually, Duo sat near Trowa - beside, in front or behind him - and usually, Duo passed at least a few notes with running commentary on the lecture or lewd suggestions of how certain conflicts could have been resolved with orgies instead of assassinations.

It was, Trowa would never admit, something he actually looked forward to.

Today, however, Duo took a seat in the last row of the lecture hall, not even looking in Trowa’s direction before he walked past.

Trowa found himself clenching his jaw and his pen equally tight. 

He had the crazy idea to just get up and go sit beside Duo, but he abandoned the thought as the prof entered the room, followed closely by Wufei, who endured the prof’s glare and even looked contrite for a moment before he worked his way down the rows and took the seat on Trowa’s right.

“Where’s…” Wufei’s voice trailed off as he looked around and spotted Duo. “So you finally did it.”

Trowa frowned. “Finally did what?”

“Acted like enough of an asshole that even Duo won’t forgive you,” Wufei said, not even looking at Trowa as he pulled out a notebook and started to copy down the outline the prof was writing on the front chalkboard.

Trowa scowled and he wanted to say something - wanted to defend himself, wanted to point out that  _ Duo _ was the asshole here - but the prof started to lecture and Trowa had seen what the man did to students who tried to carry on side conversations while he was speaking.

Trowa was able to concentrate on the lecture, but only barely. He was too used to Duo’s presence and found himself looking up whenever the prof said something that, in another context, could be taken in a  _ very _ different way. But Duo wasn’t beside him, wasn’t smirking and furiously scribbling notes for Trowa to shake his head and roll his eyes at.

By the time the lecture ended, Trowa felt strangely bereft and decided to catch up to Duo before he left the room.

The prof, however, had other ideas. He held Trowa after to discuss his latest paper, to try and convince him that American history was for half-wits and capitalist dogs and really, Trowa should change his focus to Russian History because he had a natural understanding of the complexities and a flair for writing that would be wasted on the fools in American history. It didn’t matter, the prof assured him, that he had his thesis half written and absolutely no course work to support the change of fields. He could catch up, he could revise his thesis and -

It was twenty minutes before Trowa could politely extricate himself, and by that point, Duo’s beat-up Jeep was gone from the parking lot behind the lecture hall.

Trowa sighed as he checked his watch. 5:15. No doubt Duo was on his way to his job at the dive bar a few blocks from their apartment where he tended bar a few nights a week.

For some reason, the idea of letting Duo just go and continue to be this angry - to let him keep avoiding Trowa - didn’t sit well. 

Duo had never blown up like that at Trowa, no matter how angry Trowa got with him for whatever new scheme to annoy him Duo had come up with, no matter how snarky Trowa was - Duo just shrugged it off, smirked or offered a comeback before going on with his day.

But for some reason, today was different. Today was  _ wrong _ and Trowa couldn’t let it keep going.

So he drove over to the bar and parked himself in a corner, careful to avoid the sticky counter top of the bar, and waited for Duo’s shift to start.

When Duo spotted him, Trowa saw his mouth twitch, saw his lips curve upwards for a second before flattening out and then turning downward in a frown and it made Trowa feel like even more of an asshole.

Duo sighed and walked over.

“What can I get you?”

“Can we talk?”

Duo shook his head and gestured to the nearly empty bar. 

“No can do - a bit busy here.”

Trowa glared but Duo just stared back at him.

“Look, Duo, about this morning, I -”

“You want to order something or what?”

Duo appeared completely unfazed by Trowa’s glare.

“PBR.”

Duo nodded and walked away. He deposited a slightly overflowing pilsner glass in front of Trowa only seconds later and walked away without a word.

Four PBRs, a plate of cheese fries and countless glares later, Duo took his break and Trowa threw down enough money to cover his bill before he left the bar and walked around to the back, where he knew Duo took his break even on the coldest of nights because he hated the stale cigarette smell of the bar and tried to escape it whenever he could.

Sure enough, Duo was leaning against the graffitied brick wall, eyes closed and head tilted back while the streetlight spilled across him.

“I’m sorry.”

Duo started, eyes opening comically wide.

“What the fuck? Tro, just -”

“I’m sorry for yelling at you this morning. You… you did something  _ nice _ and I acted like an asshole. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well -”

“But you - you reorganized the entire kitchen and you color coded the  _ fridge _ . Who  _ does _ that?”

“For fuck’s sake!” Duo interrupted angrily. He tugged at his bangs with his fingers and he looked on the verge of violence. “Do you think you could just go  _ one _ day without pissing me off?”

Trowa stared, at a momentary loss for words.

“ _ Me _ ?” He demanded when he was finally able to get a handle on how absurd the question was. “ _ I _ piss  _ you _ off? Duo, you annoy the shit out of me  _ every _ day. You -”

“I try my damnedest to be  _ nice _ to you! I try to fucking - Trowa, you’ve been bitching about how the kitchen storage makes no sense for  _ months _ now. And you always say you can’t find shit in the fridge and I - I was just  _ trying _ to do something  _ right _ for  _ once _ since apparently I’m fucking incompetent and hell, if I can’t make it into Stanford for grad school I kind of need to find something else to do and I figured I could practice -”

“You didn’t get in?”

Duo deflated and he shook his head.

“No.”

Trowa frowned as he realized.

“Yesterday - you got the rejection letter?”

“Email. I got the rejection  _ email _ , Tro. I’m not even worth the cost of postage.”

“That’s -”

“Better for the environment, yeah. I know. I’m not really in the mood for one of your sustainability lectures right now, though.”

“I was going to say that’s complete bullshit and they must be idiots.”

“Oh.”

Trowa walked over and leaned against the wall beside Duo. He didn’t really know what to say - Duo wasn’t the kind of person who appreciated sympathy and he hated to hear false platitudes about ‘things happen for a reason.’

“I piss you off everyday?”

Duo sighed. “Forget about it. I just - I’m in a shitty mood and I should have kept my mouth shut.”

“No, I want to hear what you think.”

Duo snorted and shook his head. “Trust me on this, Tro. You really,  _ really _ don’t.”

“I do.”

Duo groaned. “Tro, seriously. I - I’m just being an idiot and it’s nothing.”

“You’re right. You do try to be nice to me,” Trowa sighed. “I… I don’t always see it and I’m not good at saying thank you.”

“Please don’t do this to me, Tro. Not tonight. Not - just please, please go back to being an asshole.”

Trowa frowned. “You just asked me not to piss you off and now you -”

Duo was suddenly surging forward, suddenly wrapping his arms around Trowa’s neck and kissing him and it was completely unexpected, completely without finesse, completely amazing.

Trowa pulled Duo closer and he kissed him back, falling into the sensation of Duo’s mouth and his heat and his scent as though it was the most natural thing in the world. As though this was what they were supposed to be doing. Should have been doing all along.

When they finally pulled away, when Duo finally cleared his throat and Trowa saw his flushed cheeks and his swollen lips, Trowa couldn’t help but smirk.

Duo, looking anywhere but at him, didn’t see the expression.

“I, ah. Sorry about that. I just - like I said. I’m a fucking wreck and I… you piss me off every day because you’re just  _ there _ and you’re so fucking perfect and -”

“I thought I was an asshole?”

Duo finally looked at him, saw the smirk and he frowned.

“You… you’re not pissed.”

“Should I be?”

“I mean, I just threw myself at you - literally. And you, well, you kind of hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Duo.”

“Oh yeah. Sure. You just spend each day regretting moving in with me and Heero and wishing I would just crawl off and die.”

“I -”

“Don’t even bother to deny it.”

“I don’t want you to crawl off and die.”

Duo shook his head and ran a hand through his bangs.

“Sure.”

“Duo. You color coded the fridge for me.” Trowa grabbed Duo’s hand and pulled him close. 

“Yeah, well -”

“And you kissed me.”

“Look, if this is some kind of pity -”

“Duo. Stop talking.”

Duo glared at him and Trowa smirked again.

He reached out and brushed his thumb over Duo’s lips.

“I had no idea kissing you would feel so perfect,” Trowa said before leaning down and replacing his thumb with his lips. 

  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

A/N: For Crown-of-Winterthorne who requested #18 from the 54 Writing Prompts, “You’re my favorite muse,” with 2x?

 

Warnings: angst, language, sexy times, historical AU

  
  


_ Eighteen _

 

It was just after noon and the sun, directly overhead, filled the streets with heat and light and  _ stink _ .

That was the thing about London, Duo had learned. In the winter it was bitterly cold, in the spring it rained every damn day, and in the summer - when it wasn’t raining it was way too hot and it smelled like the piss and shit and unwashed people who occupied it. Fall was, Duo had discovered, the only time when living in London wasn’t awful.

Of course, awful just about summed up Duo’s life  _ regardless _ of where he lived, so, aside from London providing a new litany of internal complaints to stack against previous ones for Paris, New York, Singapore and San Francisco, Duo knew it didn’t really matter.

Not much did. 

Not much  _ had _ since Father Maxwell had died last spring, only a few days after Sister Helen, both of them falling ill so fast, dying so miserably and quickly, that Duo hadn’t even had time to be upset with them for it until after, when he stood alone in the rainy cemetery and watched the undertaker heap mud over their coffins.

And then he’d been alone, in the damn rain in London in the spring and he’d had nothing but the clothes on his back - the fancy sack suit that Father Maxwell had insisted on getting for him, the waistcoat with orange silk on the back that Sister Helen had laughed at when Duo had put it on for the first time, the linen shirt that was finer and cleaner than anything he had ever had before, the neck tie that chafed, the black leather boots that had gleamed with polish - the gold crucifix that Helen had worn, and the Bible that Father Maxwell had read from every night while tending to the sick in the slums of London.

Now, more than a year later, the Bible was long gone - bartered, six months ago, for a few coins and the medicine that should have, but didn’t, keep Hilde alive. Hilde, the prostitute who Father Maxwell had cared for, who very well might have been the one to pass on the sickness to Helen and him, who had taken Duo in, had taught him which alleys were best avoided and which theatres to lurk outside of to pick pockets and which street corners to stand on and how to hold his breath while sucking off the men who paid for a pretty, long haired boy to fuck. 

The clothes, once so fine that Duo had felt he looked like one of the nobility or at least a wealthy merchant, were now threadbare and the boots that he had so loved hadn’t been polished in so long they were more brown than black now.

The crucifix, though, Duo wore around his neck and clutched in his fingers at night as he curled up in doorways and rubbish bins. 

It had, ironically, been that crucifix that had changed Duo’s life.

Two months ago, as Duo lounged against the streetlight on his usual corner, as he tried casual jibes with Trowa, the experienced prostitute who ran the corner, and Heero, the copper who probably would have given his right arm for the chance to just take Trowa away and live in the country and raise sheep or something unfathomably dull, it had happened. 

Three gentlemen with more money than taste, judging by their garish waistcoats, striped trousers and ridiculously tall top hats. 

Heero had greeted them, had made a show of trying to get Trowa and Duo to leave them alone but had been laughed off while the three fawned over Trowa, passing over Duo entirely and Heero had scowled, had hesitated and then melted away into the night so that he didn’t have to see the man he loved sell his body.

Duo had kept one eye on them, as the four men moved into the shadows, ready to intervene if he needed to, but he had been distracted by the sound of a match striking, the flare of light just a few feet to his left.

It was another man - just as well appointed as the three rakes in the alley with Trowa, but clearly with better taste, his suit a soft, somber gray that looked like rising steam in the dim light.

“A God fearing whore?”

The voice had been soft, low and full of humor and arrogance and Duo had felt his fists clench.

The man came closer when Duo remained silent, had tipped his hat back and Duo had caught a glimpse of stunning features, of icy eyes and a cruel mouth but then he had been distracted by the long blonde hair, pale as moonlight, brushed carelessly over the man’s collar.

The man blew a lazy curl of smoke in Duo’s direction as he looked him over, eyes critical, and Duo knew the man saw every flaw, every weakness and he shivered.

The man made a tutting sound when Duo looked away and it annoyed Duo enough that he turned to glare at him.

His lips curved upwards in a slow, sensuous smile that had Duo’s heart pounding and his palms growing sweaty.

“Aren’t you afraid of suffering the punishment of eternal fire?”

Duo remembered the verse. Jude 1:7. Remembered Father Maxwell’s alarm when he had caught Duo behind the rectory, his clothes half off and his tongue down the throat of Quatre Winner, son of the church’s wealthiest benefactor. Remembered the tight line of Helen’s lips and the sadness, the overwhelming sorrow in both their voices as they told Duo just how very, very wrong it was to love another man.

Duo shrugged one shoulder and affected a careless smirk.

“Who’s to say desire is unnatural?” He said to the man.

He chuckled, low and cold, and used the silver tip of his cane to tap the crucifix around Duo’s neck.

“I believe  _ He _ says.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t see him doing much about it, do you?” Duo let his voice drop, let it become the purr that Hilde had taught him and he saw the way it affected this man - the same as all the others, in the end.

He’d expected a quick, rough fuck in the alley, had anticipated having to maneuver past Trowa and  _ his _ men but instead, the man had held out a thick, creamy card and waited while Duo stared at it in confusion.

“Come by in the afternoon. That’s when the light is best.”

Duo had been confused by the directions, even more than he was confused by the card, but he had taken it, had let his eyes linger on the black script.

_ Lord Miliardo Peacecraft _

The address was near Belgrave Square. Fashionable, but only just.

When Duo looked up, the man was gone.

It had taken a two weeks, of rough sex and stale bread and wet, miserable nights before Duo took the card out of his pocket and presented it to a butler whose sneer suggested he would rather cut off his nose than have to smell Duo in close proximity.

Duo had been led through the house, hadn’t even bothered to be discreet about his awe at the well appointed furnishings, hadn’t bothered to hide his confusion when he was led up, up, and up to the very top floor of the house while the butler knocked on a closed door.

It had opened only a moment later, Lord Peacecraft scowling, dressed in only trousers and a thin linen shirt, looking ready to yell at the interruption until his cold eyes landed on Duo and his entire demeanor transformed.

Duo had followed him into the room, had seen the huge bed pushed against a wall, the flood of light from the large windows, and he had started to undress without being prompted. He knew, after all, what he was there for.

Or he thought he had.

Peacecraft had laughed, had stopped him from removing his waistcoat with long, strong fingers and tipped Duo’s chin upwards.

“I have no interest in fucking you, dear boy,” he had said in that same patronizing tone.

Duo had frowned.

“Well, not  _ today _ ,” Peacecraft amended. 

He had taken hold of Duo’s jaw, had turned his head first one way and then another before nodding.

“Yes. Just as I thought. Go, sit by the window and I can sketch you while there is still light.”

And it had been weeks of just that. 

Duo arriving and sitting while Peacecraft drew him, painted him, moved him about like a marionette, touching his body with a careless familiarity that both inflamed Duo and made him feel worthless. 

And gold, more coin than Duo had seen since the collection plates at Father Maxwell’s church, pressed into his palm as the sun set and Peacecraft packed away his pencils or brushes or pens.

Six weeks of that.

And today, as the sun beat down on Duo, as his wool suit itched and his linen shirt clung to him with sweat and grime, Duo followed the butler - Otto, who still, even after all this time, refused to address Duo or look at him with anything less than disdain - up, up and up, Duo expected the routine to remain unchanged, expected to sit and hold his breath in the hope that Peacecraft would touch him, would look at him with those freezing eyes and see something worthy.

But today, when the door opened, Peacecraft was shirtless and smirking and Duo could hear laughter. Bright, artificial,  _ feminine _ laughter.

He felt hot and cold all over and he dug his fingers into the hem of his jacket, worried at the fraying fabric, and he glared at the floor instead of the smear of rouge on Peacecraft’s cheek where, clearly, some tart had kissed him.

“Ladies, I believe our time is at an end today.” 

Duo had listened to them complain, listened to them cajole, listened to the rustle of fabric and the amused groan of Peacecraft as he was fondled and kissed and begged and finally, after what had felt like hours, three women had trouped past Duo, their perfume as vivid as their makeup, their clothes in disarray and their eyes sharp as they raked over his too slight, too dirty, too unfashionable form.

And then Peacecraft was ushering him inside, was closing the door and Duo felt…

Bereft.

As abandoned as he had been the day Father Maxwell and Sister Helen had been returned to the earth and he fought against the urge to scream or cry or run or - or do anything.

He stood there. He continued to glare at the floor, and he waited for instruction. Waited for the lump in his throat to go away and the burning in his eyes and he waited and he hoped. 

“Duo.”

Peacecraft didn’t let him wait. He walked over and tipped up Duo’s chin in a gesture now well practiced and his cold eyes and cruel mouth tightened as they took in Duo’s expression, as they took in the pain and anger and betrayal that Duo didn’t hide fast enough.

He sighed and he stepped away and Duo could see, could  _ feel _ his disappointment. 

Duo reached out, caught his hand and tangled their fingers together.

“I can be better. I can be better than them. I can - I can put on makeup and a corset, if that’s what you want. I can do whatever they do. You can fuck me however you want. I can be better. I can - just give me a chance.”

Peacecraft looked at their joined hands, and Duo knew he should let go, should step back, should admit defeat and run but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t give up this beautiful god.

So he knelt and he worshipped him, he unfastened his trousers with unsteady hands and he smoothed down the silken drawers and there he stumbled, confronted with Peacecraft’s already hard cock, with the red, swollen flesh and he had never seen a cock so beautiful before and he tried to swallow all of it, tried too fast and he choked and coughed but then he tried again, silently begging Peacecraft, begging  _ God _ , to let this be good. To let it be better. To let it be enough.

The whole time, Peacecraft stood silent and still, letting Duo plead with his mouth, with the only thing he had ever had confidence in.

When Peacecraft came it was with a soft, almost silent grunt, a shudder, and hot, bitter cum that filled Duo’s mouth and throat, that dribbled over his lips and down his chin as Peacecraft pulled away.

Duo looked up, then, finally, to see the verdict - but Peacecraft was pulling out his sketchbook and his pencils, a frown drawing his perfect pale brows together and he stood there, trousers around his thighs, spent cock wet from Duo’s mouth and his own pleasure, and he looked at Duo with those cold eyes that saw everything and he  _ drew him _ .

Duo felt numb. Felt cold all over and he - he couldn’t think. 

He could do nothing but kneel there with cum on his face and tears in his eyes and emptiness in his heart.

He didn’t know how long it was, didn’t know how many pages Peacecraft flipped through and discarded, but eventually the sun began to set and the book and pencils were tossed aside and Duo closed his eyes.

It was time. Time to stand up and take the payment and leave and - and he knew,  _ could feel it _ , that things had ended. He had not been better. Had not been enough. Could offer Peacecraft nothing that came close to what those three women had and this was it. 

His last moment to look into those cold eyes.

But when Duo raised his gaze from the floor, when his eyes met Peacecraft’s they were, for the first time, thawed.

“My Duo,” the man said and he pulled Duo to his feet, pulled him close and kissed his lips gently. “You are my favorite muse.”

He didn’t know what it meant, the words or the touch, the warmth and the tenderness. 

Duo could barely remember what it felt like - to be held, to hear his name said with affection.

He didn’t know how to react.

“You will always be better than anyone or anything else that I have,” Peacecraft continued, his fingers running through Duo’s hair, uncaring of the tangles or the grease. “You will always be mine.”

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

A/N: for Crown of Winterthorne who requested #18 from 54 Prompts with 2x?, “It’s just that… well, my favorite character just died.”

 

Warnings: language, spoilers for the Captive Prince trilogy

 

Pairings: 2x5

  
  


_ 18 _

 

Duo was tired, beyond tired, really, after pulling a forty-eight hour long shift at the hospital and he needed, more than anything else, to develop a way to sleep and eat while at the same time taking a shower.

He should have grabbed an IV bag and just hooked himself up with a pillow in the shower and called it good. 

Of course, if he did that, Duo would never,  _ ever _ hear the end of it from his roommate. 

Speaking of…

Duo opened the door to their closet of an apartment as quietly as possible. Usually their schedules were the same, and they suffered their internship together, but this week their resident had decided to split some shifts up and so Duo and Wufei were working on different schedules, Wufei likely still asleep after getting off of his shift six hours ago.

Except, when Duo stepped into their apartment, he saw Wufei sitting on the couch, face red and wet and -

“Jesus fuck, are you  _ crying _ ?”

Wufei looked up with alarm, dropping the book and the kleenex in his hand and sprinting for the bathroom.

He locked it before Duo could reach him, and Duo thudded into the barrier helplessly.

“Shit, Fei, what happened? Did - did someone die? Is everything okay?”

Silence, and then sniffling.

“Fei, please, tell me what’s wrong.”

They had only known each other for six months, meeting during their first shift and reaching eagerly for the flyer advertising a studio loft apartment at the same time. It had been expensive as hell, out of either of their budgets, but each of them had been couch surfing, waiting for their first paycheck and doling out ramen like they were going to starve, and had decided what the hell - it was big enough for two mattresses, and had split the cost and moved in together.

It had been a challenge, at first because Wufei was annoying as hell and so, he claimed, was Duo. It had  _ remained _ a challenge, though, because as soon as Wufei stopped being annoying he started being distracting because he was snarky and gorgeous and brilliant - and Duo had been in love with him for months now, had had to force himself not to stare or say anything that would ruin their friendship because he knew that Wufei couldn’t possibly feel the same way and at least, at least Duo could be his friend if not his lover.

“Nothing,” Wufei insisted and the sadness in his voice twisted Duo’s guts.

“Fei, what - what can I do?” Duo begged, unable to bear the thought of him crying alone in the bathroom. He had absolutely no idea what could be making Wufei this sad, and even if there hadn’t been a door between them, Duo had no idea how to comfort Wufei.

“Nothing. I’m fine. I-”

“If you’re fine then open the door, Fei.”

Duo could practically  _ feel _ Wufei glaring at the door, but after a moment, the lock disengaged and Duo gently pushed it open. 

Wufei was leaning against the sink, hugging himself and Duo swallowed with difficulty. He looked so damn miserable.

“Fei -”

To hell with it. Duo closed the space between them and wrapped his arms around the other man.

Wufei was stiff at first, unyielding and no doubt furious at the intrusion into his personal space, but then he practically melted into Duo’s arms and hugged him back.

Duo ran a hand through Wufei’s hair, feeling the silken strands for the first time and wishing it was under different circumstances.

“Tell me,” he begged.

Wufei sniffled again and pressed his cheek against Duo’s shoulder.

“It’s just...My favorite character just died.”

It took a moment for the words to register, and a further moment to get hold of himself, to not give into his first reaction, to not demand that Wufei repeat himself.

_ He was crying over a dead fictional character? _

Duo had seen Wufei dispassionately tell a woman that her eight year old daughter had died in surgery just three days ago.

And now he was  _ crying _ over a book?

What the -

Duo frowned. What was Wufei even reading these days?

“What, ah, what book?”

“Your  _ Captive Prince  _ books.”

That took Duo completely off guard.

Wufei had sneered at them, had arched an eyebrow when Duo had decided not to take a nap during his shifts last week so that he could devour the books and he had shaken his head in dismay and judgement when Duo had teared up at several points.

“Who, ah, who died?”

“Nicaise,” Wufei practically whimpered.

“Nicaise?  _ Nicaise _ is your favorite character?”

That… that was almost as shocking as Wufei crying in the first place.

“Why on earth do you even like him?” Duo asked.

“He reminded me of you.”

That gave Duo pause.

“I, ah… is that a good thing?”

“What do you mean?” Wufei pulled away and Duo looked into his red rimmed eyes.

“I mean… you… I…” Duo had no idea what he was trying to ask.

“I’m crying my eyes out over a dead  _ fictional character _ . Because he reminded me of you.”

“So… you don’t want me to die?”

“Of course I don’t, you idiot. I lov -” Wufei stopped speaking, snapping his mouth closed while his entire face turned a brilliant red.

Duo stared and then he grinned.

“You what?”

Wufei shook his head and looked away.

“Maxwell, just -”

“You love me.” Duo reached out and turned Wufei’s head back towards him, forcing the other man to meet his eyes, willing him to see the emotion in Duo’s own.

Wufei’s eyes widened.

“I love you, too,” Duo said as he ran his thumb over Wufei’s cheek, wiping away his tears. “And I love that you cried over Nicaise. Because he reminded you of me.”

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

A/N: For simulacrayn who requested #48 from 54 Prompts, “My parents are coming over in ten minutes so please put some clothes on.” Featuring 13x6, with a guest and bonus appearance by Dorothy.

 

Warnings: language, sexy-ish times?, drugs, underage drinking

 

Pairings: 13x6,

 

_ Forty Eight _

 

Summers at the Hamptons had stopped being entertaining when Treize was seven. That had been the summer when, instead of occupying himself with sandcastles and tennis lessons and birthday parties, he had had to learn how best to take care of his mother when she had the worst of her hangovers. Divorce, which seemed to suit Treize’s father and his string of super model girlfriend’s just fine, had certainly taken it’s toll on his mother.

So, that summer, Treize had learned how to make Bloody Marys. He had learned how to lie and pretend that his mother was perfectly sober, had learned how to steer her in conversations and around the golf course and he had learned to never, ever allow anyone to see the turmoil he felt.

It wasn’t his job to feel, to need. It was his job to look after her and take care of her and so he only ever cried into his pillow, late at night, after she was tucked into bed, after he had cleaned up the vomit around the toilet so that the maid wouldn’t see it in the morning, so that no one would know. So that no one would judge.

Twelve years later, and Treize’s feelings for the Hamptons had not improved. True, it wasn’t the fault of the beach or the beach houses or any of the people occupying them that his life had become one complex, farcical charade. But it wasn’t as if the place, or the people, made it any easier. Going away to college last year, running across the country to Standford where no one knew his father’s name, or his mother’s, where no one knew about the messy divorce or the overdoses that, no matter how hard Treize had tried, had resulted in his mother staying in the hospital and rehab centers too many times. He ran away and he had had every intention of never coming back, until, the summer after his freshman year, his mother had fallen in  _ love _ and become engaged and wouldn’t Treize come to the Hamptons, wouldn’t he meet this paragon of virtue who was guaranteed to make her happy when she had been so very miserable for the last twelve years?

So he came, ignoring the pain and the anger and the anxiety that churned in his gut and he forced his most pleasant smile when he met the man. A tennis pro. A  _ young _ tennis pro who had only ever managed to be ranked 28th in his prime, some six years ago, and who had no hopes of ever progressing in his sport and no doubt saw the opportunity to progress his wealth on the arm of one of New York’s most prominent, and troubled, socialites.

Treize took the first opportunity to pull the man aside, to take him out sailing alone while his mother drank mimosas and played bridge with women that Treize had heard gossip about her countless times, and he told him very frankly that there was no money. His father had paid her, while Treize was underage, and yes, she had some money of her own, from her grandmother, that was enough to get by on but her lifestyle was all because of Treize - because of the money he had inherited from his grandparents, and from the sum his father had settled on him as something between an apology and a payoff. 

Treize hadn’t been surprised to see the man go pale, hadn’t been surprised when his previously flowing if pedantic conversation died and when they returned to the house just at sunset, he wasn’t surprised when the man made some excuse to leave, to go back to the city to meet with his agent, when he offered false promises to return.

He wasn’t surprised when he found his mother two days later, pale and cold, in a pool of vomit and spilt champagne and pills.

The ride to the hospital had been long, had left him ready to vomit himself, left him ready to vow to never drink again. To never do  _ anything _ wrong again if only she would live.

And she did, she lived and she returned to the house five days later and she threw him out and told him to never, ever contact her again. Told him that he had ruined her life for the last time.

He had been so shocked, so devastated and unable to even  _ process _ it that he had walked to the beach and sat down in the sand and let the late May breeze whip against him and he had felt bereft. 

He wasn’t sure how long he had been there, how long he had stared into the crashing waves and the fading sun, but suddenly the light was blocked out and he looked up to see a tall, broad shouldered figure with ridiculously long blond hair.

“Treize?”

He frowned, the voice was familiar, but…

“Zechs?”

The blond man sat down beside him, somehow making it look effortless and graceful as he stretched out on the sand, propped himself on an elbow, and smirked over at him.

Treize hadn’t seen him in years, not since their last year at The Anderson School and the summer after, when they had been fourteen and he and Zechs had gone sailing together almost every day, earning snide remarks about their future chances at winning the America’s Cup but, in truth, Treize and Zechs had merely sailed far enough to be away from prying eyes and spent their time in a youthful, clandestine affair that brought doom onto Zechs when his father found out. He had been shipped off, after that, to some Swiss boarding school and Treize had figured that was par for the course - it had been silly, really, to think he could have something good in his life.

“I… haven’t seen you in a while.” Treize felt like a moron. He was usually so cool, so cold and so in control of his emotions and his surroundings but not now. His mother… Zechs… there was too much for him to calculate, for him to consider, and he found himself stumbling.

Zechs smirked, his wide lips just as beautiful as they had been five years ago, his eyes still sparking with humor and heat but the rest of him had changed. He had filled out, had filled  _ up _ to the point that Treize wondered which of them was taller. And his ridiculous hair was longer than ever.

“No, my father insisted we summer in the French Riviera instead, after you debauched me.”

Treize glared.

“ _ I _ debauched  _ you _ ? You were the one who put his hand down my shorts first,” Treize argued.

“Only because you kept waving your ass in my face,” Zechs’ smirk grew broader.

They stared at each other a moment, and Treize had the someone redundant realization that they were no longer fourteen. 

Five years to grow, to gain independence and experience and still, Treize looked at those lips and he felt his stomach do a curious sumersault.

“How have you been?” Zechs asked after the tension between them became almost palpable.

Treize laughed and the bitter sound that escaped his lips surprised even him.

“Oh,  _ delightful _ ,” he said and he looked away from Zechs, from those blue eyes that turned sharp.

“Treize -”

“Where are you staying?” He cut off whatever Zechs had been about to say, unable to bear it.

“With your cousin, actually, Dorothy?”

“Dear god  _ why _ ?” Treize had to ask. Dorothy, four years younger, was a precocious bitch. She had been a menace since the moment she had been born and age had not changed that. Treize saw her only when he couldn’t avoid it - meaning Thanksgivings and Christmases and the occasional New Year’s Eves. People accused  _ Treize _ of being cold and unfeeling, but anyone who did so had never met Dorothy, had never seen just what a Manhattan socialite with complete disdain for the world was capable of.

Zechs heaved a long suffering sigh and shrugged one shoulder.

“I suspect I’m there to irritate her boyfriend du jour, some hapless Winner brat who thinks he’s cunning enough to keep up with her schemes.”

Treize arched an eyebrow. “And is he?”

Zechs snorted. “No. Who is? In any case, what are your plans for tonight? Her parents are out and I promised to chaperone some party for the children.”

Treize could well imagine just how horrid that would be for Zechs - alone, surrounded by fifteen year olds too full of themselves, too  _ done _ with the world and with unrestricted access to drugs and alcohol.

“Are you actually inviting me to suffer alongside you?”

“Yes? I promise I’ll make it worth your while,” Zechs added with a sly smile.

 

-o-

 

And he did.

The party was, as Treize had foreseen, absolutely awful. Kids that he knew only vaguely, from a lifetime of social events and awkward introductions, ran around half naked and more than half drunk and it wasn’t until dawn when the last of them left or passed out and Zechs and Treize were able to finally,  _ finally _ be alone. 

Zechs commandeered one of the few bottles of Glenmorangie that hadn’t been wasted on the children, took Treize by the hand, and led him to the guest suite he occupied.

Treize had expected the bed, had expected slow sex and the burn of the whiskey in his throat and likely on his body but instead, Zechs had run a bath and undressed Treize with gentle fingers and eyes that saw far too much.

Treize had laid on Zechs’ chest, in the hot water, and they had shared the bottle and the last five years of their lives and Treize felt, for perhaps the first time since he had been seven, that things would be fine. That  _ he _ would be fine.

Of course, the mood was entirely ruined when Dorothy burst in, bright eyes smudged with makeup and her hair a wreck, with absolutely no interest in the sight of two naked men.

“My parents are coming home in ten minutes, please put some clothes on. And help me clean up this mess!”

And then she was gone, confident her orders would be obeyed, and Treize and Zechs had to laugh.

Before, of course, they put some clothes on and helped her clean up the house.

No one, they had learned the hard way years ago, disobeyed Dorothy.

  
  


-o-

 

So I changed it JUST a little from coming over to coming home. Sorry. Had to.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: For Ceeceereeves who asked for #32 from the 50 Prompts, “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified” with 2x6

  
  


Warnings: angst, language, sexy times, deeply inappropriate relationship

Pairings: hinted at 2x3, 2x6

 

_ 32 _

 

It had been the first day of the fall semester and already, Zechs had been in a foul mood at the prospect of another year of hell.

Zechs had been skeptical at first, when the boy had walked into his office and introduced himself with a casual knock on the doorframe and a cocky grin and dancing blue eyes.

He looked young - young for his age, twenty one, but overall just so  _ young _ . His cheeks were still full and round even though the rest of him was thin and wiry and he looked like a puppy. Acted like it too, some of the time. So eager to please.

When it suited him. 

“Duo Maxwell. I’m your slave or whatever.”

Zechs had raised an eyebrow, at the words, at the too casual demeanor, at the lithe body that managed to look indolent even in the dress shirt and khakis that looked pressed to within an inch of their life, at the  _ hair _ .

“Or whatever?” He had echoed sardonically, his mind already coming up with all sorts of ways he could put that long braid of hair to good use.

Duo shrugged one shoulder, grinned wider, and leaned one shoulder against the doorframe of Zech’s office.

“Yeah. I’m your new TA.”

Zechs had snorted. “They gave me a  _ freshman _ for a TA?”

Duo had flushed, his body going a bit rigid, and Zechs suspected it wasn’t the first time he had been mistaken for younger.

“I’m a doctoral candidate,” Duo had assured him.

“Really?” Zechs leaned back in his chair and looked the boy over again, letting his cool gaze wander over him in an assessing way that made the boy squirm and stand up straight. “Who is your advisor?”

“You are,” the boy said between clenched teeth.

Zechs frowned at that. He wasn’t particularly interested in that part of his job - mentoring students when it came at the expense of his research - but he  _ had _ looked at the list of new graduate candidates and the name Duo had not been on it.

“David,” the boy growled, “My name is David Maxwell - ring any bells?”

It did, now. Zechs remembered Howard, the department chair, going on and on about some  _ enfant terrible _ with a gift for numbers and an absolute disregard for authority of any kind. Homeschooled by some kind of religious zealot, graduated from Berkeley at nineteen, already a Master's from Northwestern and now here he was, starting his doctoral work at MIT. Under Zechs.

That thought had him looking at the braid again.

“David,” Zechs nodded and he saw the way the boy flinched, saw how little he cared for his given name. “You’re the idiot who wants to pursue nanotech and biomaterials as a joint field.”

The boy opened his mouth to argue but Zechs held up one finger. Duo fell silent, face going even redder, eyes going icy and narrowing dangerously. “I wasn’t asking for your input. You want to pursue a project that has stumped the best minds in the  _ world _ for the last thirty years and you don’t seem to even care what a waste of time this is for everyone around you, for  _ me _ . What on earth makes you think you can solve this when no one else can?”

The boy crossed his arms over his chest and he glared.

Zechs made an impatient gesture with his hand and the boy arched one insolent eyebrow at him.

“Oh, do I have your permission to speak now?”

“If you can’t even recognize a question, then -”

“I  _ know _ I can solve this, just like I  _ know _ the reason your little project for Dow is failing because you haven’t considered the way that the weight of the lithium is fucking up the stability of the -”

“ _ How do you know about that?” _

The boy smirked and his confidence was suddenly back. He shrugged one shoulder and his eyes were once again merry.

Zechs glared and he felt cold anger settle in. 

He had been struggling with the polymer for months now, had been courting failure for the  _ first _ time in his entire career and - he considered the boy’s words. Holy shit. He was right.

Zechs shoved a pad of paper and a pen to the edge of his desk.

“Show me.”

And the boy, cocky smirk back in place, had swaggered over to the desk, flicked his braid over his shoulder, and done just that.

 

-o-

 

Months of working with him, of having him grade the  _ awful _ introductory level courses Zechs taught, of having him stay late to work in the lab, of giving the boy the bare minimum of time to work on his own projects because he had too quickly become too invaluable with Zechs’ own, had given Zechs a certain reluctant appreciation for him.

He never would have chosen Duo for a TA, for a student. Zechs would never have chosen  _ anyone _ . He hating mentoring - it was better left to people like Noin, who seemed to thrive on  _ teaching _ the way that Zechs got a high from his successes in the lab.

But Duo competent and brilliant and, when he wasn’t being annoying as hell, blessed with deeply twisted sense of humor that mirrored Zechs’ own. He was, if Zechs cared to be honest with himself, much like Zechs himself had been at that age - smarter than anyone around him, uncaring that he made everyone else look like fools, unwilling to compromise or slow down for the sensibilities of the people in charge.

Duo had asked him, one night after three pots of coffee and pages and pages of data readouts, both of their eyes red and their breath bitter, why Zechs wasn’t simply working in a private lab where he could avoid his responsibilities to those lesser than him all the time.

The question, the phrasing, had made Zechs chuckle. Duo knew him well, even after such a short time. But that didn’t mean Zechs wanted to let the boy know  _ more _ about him, so he had brushed off the question, had told Duo to get back to work and stop running his mouth and Duo had glared, as he always did when Zechs rebuked him, and returned to work.

Zechs would have loved to be in a private lab, would gladly walk away from academia and never look back, if it wasn’t for the family, for his obligations. His entire damn line, all the way back to some medieval monk at the Sorbonne, had believed in teaching, in  _ mentoring _ and Zechs had an obligation to continue that line. An obligation to carry on the family tradition and a legal stipulation to do so if he wanted to inherit the sizeable fortunes set aside by his grandparents.

He knew Duo came from nothing, knew the boy couldn’t afford to take out student loans - or was too afraid to be in debt - and tended bar at some dive in Boston in the few spare hours he had away from Zechs, hours when he really should be sleeping. He doubted Duo would understand the need to fulfill familial obligations, or the desire to maintain a lifestyle that ensured independence and comfort.

 

-o-

It wasn’t until the start of the spring semester, until the night that Zechs glimpsed Duo in the hall outside of his lab flirting with some tall, auburn haired man with green eyes, until Duo stood up on the tips of his toes and pressed a clumsy, furtive kiss to the man’s lips before ducking his head and turning away, that Zechs started to think of the boy as more than a potential asset in his lab.

He had, of course, been fixated on that damn braid since their very first meeting, had amused himself with all sorts of ways to put it and the boy to good use. But those thoughts had been idle, over coffee between projects or in the shower while he masturbated or, twice now, while he fucked some barely worth his time piece of ass.

Seeing Duo kiss that man, seeing his red face and bright eyes when he stepped into the lab after, had turned those thoughts from idle to burning. He had been particularly acerbic that night, had shot down every idea Duo suggested, especially the good ones, with such vitriol that Duo’s face became an almost permanent shade of red.

And he’d gone too far - well, too far in Duo’s estimation, but just far enough in Zechs - by mentioning the boy’s dead parents and suggesting even they, rotting corpses that they were, would be disappointed by Duo’s denseness.

Duo had sucked in a breath, had shoved his safety glasses off his head and jerked off his gloves and stalked towards the door to leave.

“Just  _ where _ are you going, David?”

That had stopped him, the icy tone in Zechs voice and the use of the name he hated.

Zechs had watched his shoulders tense, had watched his whole body vibrate with rage for a moment before Duo turned to face him, tears in his eyes. On his cheeks.

“I don’t deserve this shit,” Duo had snapped. “I work my  _ ass _ off for you, every fucking day and I -”

Zechs snorted a derisive laugh and Duo stopped talking and just stared at him.

“Do you know what you really deserve, David?” Zechs asked in a low, dangerous voice.

Duo caught the shift, caught the change in current as though he had been electrified and he looked like a deer caught in the headlights, staring at his impending death and unable to move.

Zechs made a tsking sound when Duo remained silent.

“And still the trouble with being able to answer a question,” Zechs gave an irritable sigh and he gestured towards the door. “Lock that and pull the shade.”

Duo still made no move.

_ “Do it! _ ” Zechs bellowed and Duo jumped, turned and locked the door with clumsy fingers and pulled the shade, released it too soon, and had to pull it back down again.

He remained at the door, facing away from Zechs, but even from across the lab, Zechs could see the way his shoulders rose and fell with shaky, unsteady breaths.

“Since you seem unable to answer the simple question I put to you, allow me,” Zechs said. He stood up and he unfastened his trousers and pushed them and his briefs down to his thighs as he spoke. He was already half hard, already aroused by his own frustration and jealousy and Duo’s clear trepidation. He stroked himself as he continued to speak. “What you really deserve, David, is to be put in your place. And do you know where your place is, David?”

No answer, no response at all except for Duo clenching his hands into fists at his sides.

“Your place is on your knees, bowing down to your superiors, taking a cock up your ass or deep down your throat. What you  _ deserve _ is to be fucked over and over again until you can barely walk or breath, until you’re dripping with semen.”

Zechs heard the sharply indrawn breath and he allowed himself to smirk when Duo finally turned around, when his eyes went wide at the sight of Zechs leaning against a lab table and stroking his own cock. 

And then Duo licked his lips. 

“Fuck you,” he said, but his voice was a broken whisper.

Zechs arched an eyebrow. “Oh, I don’t think so. The idea is to fuck  _ you _ . To use you like the good little slut you are. What was it you said? That first day, when you introduced yourself?”

Duo’s pupils were dilated and his hands were no longer fisted, instead, his fingers were digging into his thighs while his gaze was fixed on Zech’s swollen, leaking cock.

“ _ Answer me!” _

Duo jumped and he swallowed hard and raised his eyes to meet Zechs.

“I’m your slave. Or whatever.”

Zechs nodded in agreement. “Then start acting like it. Get over here and get to  _ work _ .”

Duo stumbled, tripping over a rolling stool in his haste to follow the order, but then he was in place, on his knees in front of Zechs and his warm, wet mouth was closing over the head of Zechs’ cock.

Zechs smirked and he took hold of Duo’s braid, chuckling when the boy’s eyes narrowed, and he wrapped it around and around his hand like a leash and used it to hold the boy in place while he thrust his cock into Duo’s mouth.

He coughed and choked and his eyes watered further.

Zechs arched an eyebrow and he sneered but Duo pulled back only a little before opening his mouth wider and waiting.

Waiting for Zechs to fuck him in earnest.

 

-o-

 

It had been the first day of the fall semester, and Zechs had been irritated with the heat, with his colleagues, with the fresh-faced girl who smiled at him and gushed over how wonderful it was to have  _ him _ as her advisor and how very, very excited she was to potentially assist him on whatever projects he was working on and how truly  _ amazing _ his polymer for Dow was and -

Zechs had cut her off, unable to bear any more, and told her briskly that she would not, under any circumstances, set foot in his lab or  _ ever _ touch any of his projects.

She had stumbled on her way out and Zechs had allowed himself a small measure of pride over that, a moment to celebrate the minutest of victories before returning to the grant proposal that deserved his full attention.

Deserved, but was not receiving.

Every time Zechs heard the outer door open - the door that led from the main corridor to the row of offices for Materials Engineering - every time he heard a male voice, Zechs found himself on edge, anticipation coiling through his body followed swiftly by disappointment and disgust.

Until finally, at  _ seven _ that night, hours after Zechs should have gone home - hours after everyone else  _ had _ \- Duo walked into his office.

The setting sun filtered through Zechs windows, giving the boy a golden glow that was completely unnecessary, gilding the lily, in Zechs mind.

Duo was tanned and smirking and so very clearly happy that Zechs felt it like a physical blow.

He had spent the summer in Switzerland, working at the LHC and he should absolutely not be that tan if he had been spending so much time underground and in labs. He had emailed Zechs every day. Long, detailed analysis of the work he had been doing, one line messages with questions or thoughts for future research. Every day. And Zechs had not allowed himself to respond to a single one.

“Missed me?” Duo guessed and his grin had never been so self-assured as it was in that moment.

He closed and locked the door without being told, pulled the screen down and then walked around the room, closing the blinds on all of the windows in the corner office until they were in gray darkness.

Duo tugged Zechs’ chair away from his desk, turned it and then knelt down in front of him and pushed Zechs’ thighs apart before scooting closer.

He nuzzled along the inseam of Zechs’ trousers, lips and teeth and tongue dragging along the seam, so hot and wet that Zechs could feel it through the fabric.

“I’ve missed you,” Duo said, seemingly unperturbed by Zechs’ silence. “God, I’ve missed you.”

Nimble, confident fingers opened the fly of his trousers, tugged fabric out of the way, glanced over his painfully hard cock.

“I wasn’t lonely, of course,” Duo said, the words hot on Zechs’ cock. “A German took an interest in me - offered to teach me all sorts of things. I think you know him? Treize Khushrenada?”

Zechs clenched at the arms of his chair.

Of course he knew Treize - it was how he had gotten Duo the internship in the first place, calling Treize and asking,  _ begging _ in the end, just as Treize had wanted. 

He could picture it now. Could picture Duo’s smart mouth being fucked by Treize’s long, hard cock. Could picture Treize chuckling as he filled Duo’s tight ass or came on his face. Could picture Duo so eager to learn and so very, very eager to be fucked and filled.

The mental images were simultaneously arousing and revolting, as Zechs thought back to the spring, to all of the many ways he had fucked Duo in the lab, in this very office. It had been perfect, so perfect,  _ too _ perfect. A brilliant boy who could keep up with Zechs at his work, who could assist him in  _ every _ way. A brilliant, beautiful boy who loved to be fucked just as much as he loved to figure out the missing element that would solve a complex equation.

Treize would have delighted in him, would have used him up and treated Duo as just yet another toy at his disposal, another devotee there to soak up his knowledge and his semen. And he would have left Duo desperate and aching and in love with him, perpetually unsatisfied with anyone or anything else afterwards.

“I told him no thanks. Told him he could go fuck himself, that I wasn’t a whore. Told him I wasn’t  _ his _ slave.”

Zechs sucked in a breath and met Duo’s eyes in the dark. He couldn’t see much, but he could see a glimmer there, could see the curve of Duo’s lips, the flick of his tongue as he teased Zechs’ cock.

“You aren’t a whore?” Zechs asked and he mentally berated himself for how shaky his voice was. How desperate he sounded.

Duo shook his head. “Nope. I might be a good little slut, and I might deserve to be fucked over and over again until you can barely walk or breath, until you’re dripping with semen. But I’m no whore. And I don’t want anyone except you to fuck me.”

Zechs felt relief, felt impossibly light, and he gave Duo what he so clearly wanted. He grabbed the boy’s braid and he pulled his head down and shoved his cock deep, sliding into that welcome wetness and groaning. He fucked him hard, until they were both breathless, until Duo’s face was wet with saliva and tears and finally, as Zechs came with a shout, cum. 

Afterwards, Duo curled up against his legs, let Zechs run his fingers through his thoroughly mussed hair.

“You never responded to my emails. You ignored my calls. My texts. I… I thought maybe there was someone else.”

Duo sounded fragile, his voice raw from having a cock rammed down his throat, his body tense.

Zechs tugged sharply on Duo’s bangs and the boy hissed and then moaned.

“Of course there wasn’t.”

“I - I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

Zechs stilled and he had a moment of panic, found himself wondering if  _ he _ had spoken those words or if Duo had. 

“I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry, I -”

Zechs stopped him, shut him up by clamping a hand over his mouth and then hauling Duo upright and forcing him against the desk, bending him over and using his free hand to unfasten Duo’s khakis. He pushed them down, shoved his boxers down as well and he leaned down to spit into the dark, tight ring between Duo’s cheeks.

“You should be sorry,” Zechs said and his own voice was as rough as his handling of Duo’s body. “And if you aren’t sorry yet, I will make you very, very sorry,” he assured Duo.

He heard the boy gasp, heard him grunt and then moan as Zechs worked a finger into him.

“Terrified? That’s exactly what you should be.”

Usually they had some kind of lubricant - Duo had started carrying some around with him after the  _ second _ time they used up all of the antibiotic ointment in the first aid kit. They had stopped using condoms after the first month of Zechs bending Duo over stools and desks or shoving him against the floor or the wall, after Duo had casually left an envelope on the desk in Zech’s office, where anyone could see it, and Zechs had opened it to see a list of STD results, all clear, and he had fucked Duo so many times that night, had really left him barely able to walk and literally dripping with semen.

But Zechs hadn’t thought to bring any today, and Duo’s pockets held nothing but his wallet and keys and Zechs realized - Duo really  _ had _ thought Zechs had someone else. He had thought things were over between them. 

He had never been this rough with Duo, had never prepared him so little and he hesitated, but then Duo was reaching between them, was angling Zechs’ cock into his barely stretched hole and pushing back and they both groaned as he penetrated Duo’s body.

Zechs was merciless as he fucked him, loving Duo’s grunts of pain and pleasure equally, desiring both,  _ needing _ both to get off, to reach that precipice and then send himself over, roughly jerking Duo off at the same time so that the boy cried out and spilled over Zechs’ hand.

He sat back down in his chair, flaccid cock still inside Duo, and pulled the boy close.

Zechs pushed his braid aside and placed a kiss at the base of his neck.

“I want you to be just as terrified as I am.”

 

-o-

 

Ahem. Well. It’s been a while (? has it?) since I wrote some smut… so there you go.

 


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: For chemicalcrush, who wanted the following prompt from the Bad Dates Prompts/Ideas:

“I’m on a really shitty blind date and you got fed up with the asshole I’m with so you dump water on their head and ask to take me on a better date. I totally accept.” Featuring 2x3

A/N #2: A huge HUGE thank you to Maevemauvaise for being my beta and for being so so encouraging as I wrote this. You are the best.

 

Warnings: language

 

Pairings: 2x3, old 3x5

 

_ Blind Date _

 

This was the absolute last time I would  _ ever _ go out on a blind date that my sister set up. And this time, unlike the five other times I had made the same promise to myself, I  _ meant  _ it. 

It was almost as if Cathy was  _ trying _ to find awful men to set me up with - first the school teacher who hated children, then the Marine who still hadn’t  _ actually _ come out to anyone except somehow my sister, the stock broker who thought it was sexy to talk about mutual funds while he tried to play footsie with me under the table, the food critic who spent our entire date sounding like a pompous asshole as he critiqued everything from the napkins to the overwhelming amount of fish on the menu of a restaurant with Ocean in its very name, the actor who had been so self-absorbed that I wasn’t sure ever bothered to even learn my name. 

Ever since my breakup with Wufei and, I could admit now, awful coping method of fucking my way out of loneliness, dating had seemed like a complete waste of time. And while I appreciated Cathy, appreciated that she loved me and was only trying to make things better, I did  _ not _ appreciate the string of blind dates over the past month that had left me almost paranoid about dating at all, ever again.

Tonight - this date - was even worse.

It was worse, so much worse than all the others, because I could see why Cathy had thought to set me up with the guy in the first place. 

Treize Khushrenada. A several years older than me, his features perfect and just a little cold, dark blond hair in artful disarray on his forehead and clothes immaculate and perfectly fitted to his tall, lean form. 

I’d heard of him, had seen his work, but I had never met him - had certainly never thought to be on a  _ date _ with him.

He was a choreographer, an absolutely brilliant one just back in New York after his great success with the Kirov last season, and I had dreamed of dancing with the companies he worked with since I was a child. Had dreamed of dancing for  _ him _ ever since I saw his  _ The Sleeping Beauty _ five years ago when I first started dancing with ABT. 

Treize was brilliant and he knew it.

I didn’t mind that - his arrogance wasn’t at all off putting to me. Nor was the cool way his eyes assessed me as I walked up to him at the bar to introduce myself. I was used to eyes on me, I was used to eyes judging me.

What I wasn’t used to was someone  _ sneering _ at me after looking over my body. It made me feel like I should haul out a barre and start practicing. 

He was actually taller than me, which hardly ever happened, and he put his hand on the small of my back as he propelled me towards our waiting table. 

It felt like we were in the rehearsal hall, like he was moving me into the position he preferred and I found it unexpectedly irritating. 

Wufei had been bossy as hell - in bed and out and I hadn’t minded. I had loved it, probably too much based on some of the things he had said during our last fight - but he had never made me feel like  _ just _ a dancer, like a marionette that wasn’t quite up to snuff.

He had merely lifted an eyebrow when I told him of my promotion from the  _ corps _ to Soloist at ABT. Had asked why I wasn’t dancing Prince Ivan in the upcoming production of  _ The Firebird  _ and had chuckled and shaken his head when I told him that I had been cast as Koschei. 

He had arched another eyebrow when I ordered a draft beer instead of a glass of wine or just water. 

When the waiter returned and started to list the specials, Treize waved him off.

“I’m not interested,” he said in a tone that would have had me looking down and praying I hadn’t made a mistake.

Not the waiter.

He cleared his throat and when he next spoke he sounded almost combative.

“Of course not,” he said, “but maybe your date is?”

I looked up then, away from my menu and Treize’s glacial eyes and into the unexpectedly handsome face of in front of us.

He was probably my age, with long, messy brown bangs and bright, sharp blue eyes that were almost violet. His features were strong, his lips wide and his eyebrows were raised in question.

I shrugged one shoulder. To me, food was food, and having someone intercede on my behalf was… unsettling.

The waiter nodded.

“Alright. No problem. I’ll give you two a few more minutes to look over the menus?”

“Thanks,” I said before Treize could speak up and the waiter offered me the slightest of smirks before turning and walking away from out table. 

It was only then that I saw his long braid of hair, swinging across his back, the longest tendrils brushing over his ass.

We were silent as we looked over the menus again, and when the waiter returned he arched an eyebrow at me and I swear it looked like he was asking me if I was okay.

I wish I had paid attention when he first walked up to our table and introduced himself before taking our drink orders.

“I will have the salmon,” Treize said, carelessly shoving the menu into the waiter’s face. 

He blinked and then narrowed his eyes before seeming to shake himself and then turning to me.

“And you?” he asked and offered me a smirk that did curious things to my pulse.

“The lamb.”

“The  _ lamb _ ? Don’t you have a performance tomorrow?” Treize seemed as horrified as he was shocked.

Ballet was one of those sports where people - audiences, choreographers, even other dancers - expected athletes who were capable of amazing feats of strength and stamina but still needed to look fragile and willowy. It was harder for women - I knew that. Cathy, older than me by five years, had suffered so much for her career that in the end she had given it up. I could still remember being eleven and having one of the older dancers teach me how to force myself to throw up a too heavy meal. 

I was naturally on the thin side, despite my broad shoulders, and I had never had a problem burning more calories than I ate. I had never been one of those called into the artistic director’s office and given the nutrition speech that was really just code for  _ stop eating and get better at starving yourself _ . I had never had a choreographer look at me with the same critical, disappointed eyes that Treize now regarded me with. 

And I had definitely never had a lover look at me like that. This had been one of Wufei’s favorite things to pick a fight over - except he was on the other side of it. He was convinced I was going to kill myself, that I was too thin and that I was the most unhealthy, healthy person he had ever met. He had been right - he almost always was, but that didn’t make his interference any more welcome.

“The lamb is excellent,” the waiter said in a tight voice. “Killer yoghurt marinade.” He took the menu from my hand, the tips of our fingers brushing, and I looked up to see him wink at me.

I let go of the menu and took a long sip of my beer while he walked away and I refused to watch him go.

Treize, however, was definitely watching me.

“How many calories  _ is _ the lamb?” He asked.

As if I knew. It wasn’t published in the menu and it wasn’t as if this place, where one meal was the same as what I paid for food for an entire week, could be bothered to care about anything other than flavor and presentation.

I shrugged and he snorted and then chuckled, low and cruel.

“Of course. You’ll take care of it later.”

I flushed at his words, his knowing look. 

He took another sip of his wine, tilting the glass towards me in a mock toast that made my hands clench into fists.

“I’m sure you’ve heard that I will be choreographing Le Spectre de la Rose for the winter gala.”

I had not, in fact, heard that, and I couldn’t hide the way my eyes widened.

It wasn’t a remarkable ballet - it was short, with only two roles, the perfect piece for a gala benefit for ABT’s wealthiest patrons - but it was one of the more notorious ones for male dancers. The Spectre was a great - if brief - role. It required incredible strength and it was a role I had dreamed about ever since I saw Nureyev dance it on a staticky VHS recording of the 1979 performance for the Joffrey Ballet. As soon as the piece had been announced for the gala I had been working my ass off - showing up early to every practice, taking extra barre classes, working out more, doing my damnedest to make sure that any leap I did for  _ any _ choreography was as powerful and high as I could make it.

Treize laughed at my expression and he leaned back in his chair and chuckled again.

“I danced it, you know, when I was your age.”

I did know. I had seen a recording of that too. Like most choreographers, Treize had started out as a dancer and moved into the fine art of abusing dancers into composition when he had grown too old or his body too brittle. 

“You were breathtaking,” I said, the truth. He wasn’t Nureyev - no one was. Hell, even Nureyev wasn’t Nijinsky. But Treize had still been very, very good.

It was the wrong thing to say, however, and Treize merely lifted an eyebrow and seemed bored.

I found myself wondering how the hell Cathy had even  _ arranged _ this date in the first place.

Her new position, teaching for the Joffrey Ballet, kept her in Chicago - which I had foolishly assumed was far enough away not to interfere in my life until she had proven, with this string of blind dates, that that was absolutely not the case -  and meant that she was still in the ballet world. But Treize didn’t work with the Joffrey - he had famously quarrelled with three of their artistic directors and been banned from ever working there again. 

“What are you working on before that?” I asked, because the silence was growing oppressive and fiddling with the hem of the tablecloth was a ridiculous pastime for a twenty-five year old man on a date.

“A new piece with the City ballet. A little too  _ avant garde _ for my tastes,” he shrugged again and offered up a thin smirk, “but Lincoln Center is practically home for me.”

I don’t know if I had ever heard a more arrogant remark, delivered in such an offhand way. It startled me into a laugh and Treize arched an eyebrow in question.

I shook my head and took another sip of beer. It was nearly empty and I wondered if Treize would have a fit if I ordered another.

“Another?”

It was the waiter, appearing silently beside us and gesturing to the nearly empty glass in my hand, as though my thoughts had summoned him.

“Yes. Thank you.”

The waiter smiled and our fingers touched again as he took the glass.

Treize scowled.

I wondered if it was because of all of the calories in  _ two _ glasses of draft beer or if it was because he had seen the way the waiter and I had touched, had seen the way I flushed at the contact.

Doubtful. It had to be the calories.

The waiter returned with my beer only a moment later, despite how busy the restaurant was, and I had to restrain myself from taking it out of his hand, from trying to touch him again.

I was, after all, on a date with another man. A terrible date, to be sure, but still. 

“Your food will be right out,” the waiter assured us.

“Thank you,” I said, but Treize barely even acknowledged the existence of the other man.

“How do you know my sister?” I finally asked, so very done with the silence and the judgement and unable to figure it out myself.

“I don’t. My cousin, Dorothy.”

Oh. Oh  _ shit _ .

I had no idea the two were related.

Dorothy Catalonia, a principal dancer with the Joffrey and the woman my sister had married last year. A woman who, frankly, terrified me. She had joked, at the wedding, that I should move out to Chicago and dance with her. I had heard horror stories from other men who had danced with her, of her snide remarks and universal loathing for men. 

Treize hadn’t been at the wedding, but then, he didn’t strike me as being very family orientated. And the more that I thought about it, I wasn’t even surprised that Dorothy hadn’t mentioned being related to him to me. I wondered if anyone, outside of Cathy, even knew. Dorothy was fiercely independent and would likely castrate anyone who dared to suggest she had had a step up in the industry just by being related to Treize.

“I see.”

Treize gave me a thin smile.

“I’m not sure you do. Dorothy’s mother is my father’s favorite sister. And Dorothy is the reason why I am no longer welcome at the Joffrey. Or at the family home in Marseilles.”

I had to arch an eyebrow.

I was pretty sure Treize was no longer welcome at the Joffrey because he had stopped a dress rehearsal dead by calling the principal a fat cow and suggesting she stop bending over for the artistic director because taking his soft dick up her ass was clearly ruining her technique. 

“Dorothy doesn’t like you?” I guessed, only managing to sound a little sympathetic.

“Dorothy doesn’t like  _ anyone _ . Except, perhaps, for your sister.”

“Perhaps.” I had seen them together a few times, before the wedding, and it always amazed me that Dorothy, such a notorious bitch, doted on Cathy and looked at her with complete adoration. 

“She’s a petty girl and she has let childhood conflicts cloud her judgement,” Treize said with an irritated sigh and an unconcerned shrug. “It hardly matters.”

I was saved from further comment when the food arrived. The waiter laid it out and smirked with pride, as though he had made it himself.

“I had them put a little extra yoghurt on yours, trust me - it really makes the meal,” he said to me and winked again.

I found myself smiling back, amused and touched. The waiter was an amazing contrast to the cold egomaniac across the table from me.

I had had maybe five bites of the lamb - and it  _ was _ amazing - when Treize looked up from his salmon and gave me a considering look.

“Don’t eat too much of that.”

I glared and decided enough was enough. Le Spectre be damned. I lived on a shoestring - between my paltry salary from ABT, the cost of living in the city, and the fact that I  _ never _ indulged in food. This night was clearly a disaster and if nothing else, I was going to enjoy the damn lamb.

I opened my mouth to say just that, but I felt Treize’s warm, hard thigh against mine under the table.

“I hate fucking boys when they are bloated,” Treize said, his voice as smooth and unconcerned as it had been when he ordered his glass of wine at the beginning of the meal.

My face drained of all color and I looked away from his cold gaze.

It had happened before. Of course it had. When I had been an apprentice with the company, I had had several soloists and principals - even a few choreographers - offer me meals or gifts or  _ something _ for a rough, unsatisfying fuck. When I had been a guest artist with the Paris Ballet last year there had even been a patron who felt that, since he was sponsoring my stay for the season, he had the right to treat me like his personal whore.

There was no way Cathy had done this to me, not on purpose. Not knowingly. Not after having to listen to her go on and on for the past month about how meaningless sex was going to leave me lonely and probably riddled with STDs. Not after the tangent she had gone on about syphilis ruining my ability to dance. 

Desperate to look at anything that wasn’t Treize, my gaze skittered across the restaurant and it met that of the waiter, just one table away, and I saw the fury in his eyes, the compression of his lips, the way his hand held a pitcher of water in a white knuckled grip. I wondered what he was so pissed off about.

He walked over, determination and anger in every line of his body, and he very purposefully dumped the pitcher of water on Treize’s head.

I gaped.

Treize shouted and jumped back from his seat, water flying, his salmon drowned, his wine spilled, his clothes soaked.

He hadn’t seen the waiter approach, and when he turned to glare at him, the man adopted an expression of horror and apology.

“Sir. I am  _ so so _ sorry. You are completely soaked.”

“I am well aware of that,” Treize bit out.

If he had been looking at  _ me _ like that, I would have known to back up my bag and start looking at the call boards to see if a company in Topeka was hiring. He looked ready to pick up a fork and start stabbing the man.

The waiter wiped at Treize’s shoulders ineffectually.

“You might want to visit the restroom,” he suggested, “and use a towel or something.”

“I will,” Treize growled. “And then I will speak to your manager.”

He stalked off and it was only then, as everyone recoiled from Treize while he stormed past, that I realized how much attention had been focused on us.

“Sorry about that,” the waiter said to me once Treize was gone.

I arched an eyebrow.

“I mean. I’m sorry if you… liked him or whatever. But I seriously couldn’t listen to him talk to you like that anymore. I mean - if this is your thing. If you two are in some kind of… does he always treat you like shit?”

I had to laugh and then I shook my head.

“Blind date. I’ve never met him before tonight.”

The waiter closed his eyes and sighed in what looked like relief.

“Thank god. I was debating whether or not to do something but -”

“You realize he’s going to get you fired for this.”

The waiter smirked, broad and unrepentant and he went from being merely handsome to breathtaking.

“Well he can  _ try _ but my uncle owns the place and he’s kind of a fan of mine.”

I found myself returning his smirk and the waiter leaned in close.

“Listen, ah… if you’re not interested just say no and I’ll fuck off - because the last thing you need after this shitty night is another unwelcome advance but… you know. If you need like, a palate cleanser or something, I’m here.”

I  arched an eyebrow, completely at a loss. Was he seriously offering me a sorbet or something?

The waiter flushed and shoved his bangs out of his eyes.

“I mean, can I take you out? On a date? On a better one than  _ this _ one?”

He looked sincere and unsure and - and he was nothing like the guys I normally went for. He was a  _ waiter _ . He was my age. He was happy. He wasn’t an asshole.

“Yes,” I decided as I caught sight of a still furious, still wet, Treize coming our way again.

“Yes. Yeah?” He grinned and he looked even younger, but his enthusiasm was infectious. He winked at me. “Okay. Cool. Let me go get Howie so he can pretend to be pissed at me and ah, if you just hang out at the bar my shift is over in an hour? Or -”

“That sounds good.”

He grinned again, gave me a jaunty wave, and sauntered past Treize.

There was another scene, where Treize spoke sharply to Howard, the owner of the restaurant as well as the head chef, while the waiter - whose name, I learned during the scene, was Duo, stood at his side with a bowed head and a failure of an expression trying to look somber and regretful on his face.

Duo apologized, mumbling the words only when Howard elbowed him sharply, and Treize gave an angry huff, said he refused to pay for such a disaster of a dinner, and grabbed my arm as he started to leave.

I jerked free, surprising both of us, when we reached the door.

His eyes narrowed.

“It was nice to meet you,” I lied, my voice as cold and empty as his had been for most of the night.

His lips twisted into a sneer that was already familiar. 

“I do hope you didn’t have your little heart set on dancing Le Spectre,” he murmured.

I had. Which he knew. Had no doubt seen in my eyes when he first brought it up. But I would be damned if I bent over for this asshole.

I tilted my chin up and glared. “I’d rather dance it for someone who matters,” I said.

The words, the forced bravado, were definitely a mistake and I was sure they would have a negative effect on my career.

But then Treize chuckled and he ran a possessive thumb over my lips. “Ah. So you do have a spine. I was beginning to wonder.”

He looked me over again and he shrugged. “I generally like my boys smaller than you, anyway. But we’ll see how you do at the auditions.”

And then he was gone. 

I wasn’t sure what had just happened - and I really didn’t want to dwell on it, or him, anymore. So I went to the bar and I ordered another beer, even though I knew I would probably regret it, later, when I was bent over my toilet and had bile burning my throat, and I waited for Duo.

 

-o-

 

Okay. So this came dangerously close to wanting more. Ok. I won’t lie. It wants more NOW. But I don’t have time. I have other things to write. But I have ALWAYS wanted to write a ballet! Trowa fic and… well, this will have to content me. For now.

Okay so yes. I’m totally working on the long form followup.

 


	8. Chapter 8

For chemicalcrush, inspired by a photo posted on my tumblr for the club!verse Maeve and I keep torturing ourselves with.

 

Pairings: 1x2, 3x5xM

 

It wasn’t even a real club. 

I was pretty sure it had NEVER been zoned to be a club - pretty sure it hadn’t ever had a visit from an inspector of any sort - VERY sure they didn’t have a liquor license.

But it was Thursday night and neither Trowa nor I had classes the next day and my roommate had been determined to go out, to get drunk and laid and probably - DEFINITELY - do something or someone he would likely regret. 

So I went with him, pulling on a navy flannel plaid t-shirt shirt and pushing up the sleeves haphazardly. After all, I wasn’t going to the club to get laid. I was simply there to make sure Trowa didn’t end up passed out or dead in a corner. 

Even so, even though I had determined to just have ONE drink and nothing else, as soon as we walked down the dark, mirrored entrance hall and I felt the heavy bass of music pounding into the walls, into my very skin, I couldn’t help but enjoy the feel of my suddenly racing heart, of every thought drowned out by the loud music, of my eyes struggling to adjust to the blacklight overhead.

Trowa was gone almost immediately, smoothly making his way across the dance floor and positioning himself near a Chinese man and woman. I watched, amused, mentally betting with myself whether or not he had a chance with either one of them. I was betting not, the man looked possessive as hell, judging by the arm he had wrapped around the woman, his fingers in the back pocket of her impossibly tight black jeans, and while the woman, her short hair dark hair tipped in either white or blue judging by the way the lights made it glow, smirked up at Trowa’s approach, she was grinding against the other man as though he was the entire center of her universe.

I was already starting to prepare jokes about it, thinking of how to razz Trowa about it tomorrow once his inevitable hangover wore off, when the Chinese man reached out and dragged Trowa against his back, sandwiching himself between the slightly shorter woman and the much taller and broader Trowa.

Even across the room, I could see Trowa’s triumphant smirk, could see the way his hands greedily moved over both of their bodies and how he pressed his groin against the other man’s ass.

Well then. Home run for Trowa.

I got my one drink - a vodka tonic that had almost no tonic - and leaned against the wall to watch. I kept one eye on Trowa, but I looked over the press of bodies with idle curiosity.

Dancing had never been my thing - Trowa would say I had personal space issues, while I would point out that HE was incapable of making personal space boundaries unless safe words and handcuffs were involved - but I didn’t mind watching, didn’t mind the way the music thrummed through my body or the vodka through my blood.

There was one dancer, in particular, that my gaze kept drifting back towards. In the thick of it, white sleeveless t-shirt cut into a low v-neck in the front that showed a flat chest, long hair loose and flying with every flick of their head, one of the most beautiful people I had ever seen danced.

I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman - the clothing, the hair, the slim frame all appeared completely androgynous to me. And when they titled their head back, when the black light washed over their perfect face, all I could think was that they were stunning. Man or woman - I had never seen anyone more stunning.

I nursed my drink and watched them, watched as they danced with men and women alike, grinding against them in ways that even Trowa would have lifted an eyebrow at and I entertained myself with the fantasy of walking out there, of joining them on the dance floor and pulling that slim, taut body close and wrapping my hand in all of that hair.

And then they saw me, wide lips curving into a wicked smirk, and started to walk towards me.

I felt like prey, felt like an incredibly dangerous predator was coming my way and oh how I wanted to be devoured.

They came closer, backed me up against the wall and pull a hand on the wall near my head.

Even this close, I couldn’t tell if they were a man or a woman and I realized that I absolutely did not care. 

“You know,” they said, leaning close to shout into my ear, wet lips brushing against the shell and making me shiver, “this isn’t really a spectator sport.”

They pulled back and raised an eyebrow at my nearly empty glass.

“Vodka,” I said, hoping they heard me.

They smirked and took the glass from my hand, took a healthy sip, and then leaned close again and pressed that too damn sexy mouth against mine.

It took me by surprise and I opened my mouth - ready to gasp or protest or moan, I wasn’t sure - and they opened their mouth as well and I felt the cool slide of vodka, the rough press of their tongue, the searing hot cavern of their mouth.

I wrapped my arms around their waist and hauled them even closer, felt their right hand run through my hair, short nails teasing against my scalp.

They moaned into my mouth, nipped at my lower lip, and pulled away enough to smirk at me again.

They stepped out of my embrace and held out a hand.

“Join me?” I couldn’t hear them, could only guess at the words their mouth formed, but I reached out and took their hand and let them lead me.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Warnings: language

Paiings: 3xM, 3xMx5

 

Group Work

 

Group projects, on the whole, were a complete waste of time. 

Wufei could still remember the FIRST group project he had ever been assigned: he had been in first grade, had been paired up with two perfect blond children and instructed to work with them to build a castle and the results had been disastrous. They had wanted ramparts and Disney; he had insisted on sky wells and the Forbidden City. It had ended with all three of them needing stitches and Wufei’s parents deciding that he would do better in a Montessori school environment.

This particular group project promised to be just as dangerous, just as disastrous as THAT one had been.

At least it wasn’t as asinine - it was a research project for his Non-Western Settlements course and, since the upper level Architecture course was his favorite this semester, the instructor, Treize, the most intimidating and brilliant man Wufei had ever encountered, Wufei had actually been looking FORWARD to the project until Treize added the words, “I will assign your groups a topic.”

The trouble the REAL trouble, aside from the fact that, even after sixteen years, Wufei still did not play nicely with others, was WHO he had been assigned to work with.

Wufei almost would have preferred those two WASPs from his childhood to the two students who, after Treize had paired them off, gathered up their bags and moved over to his corner of the studio.

Meilin Long, a girl whose glare was as fierce as her tongue was sharp, who dressed in severe black and white almost every day and always looked prepared to attend a funeral or carry out an assassination.

Trowa Barton, a boy whose piercing green eyes were half hidden by a fall of auburn hair and who seemed perpetually amused by something but uninclined to let anyone else in on the joke.

They were, without a doubt, the sexiest individuals Wufei had ever encountered.

To say that they were distracting was an understatement.

He had had courses with them before - two with Trowa, three with Meilin - but had never spoken to them, never done more than look at them over the rims of his unfashionable glasses and wonder what it would feel like to be worthy of their attention.

He had seen them together once, working late in one of the studios on scale models for a class he hadn’t been taking, had watched them pass glue and Exacto knives back and forth without looking up. Had watched Meilin stop and stretch, watched her lean over and whisper something in Trowa’s ear that had him turning a knowing smirk in her direction and run his thumb over her dark red lips. Had watched Meilin lean close and put those lips over Trowa’s, watched Trowa haul her into his lap and Wufei, sitting at a computer terminal across the room, the only other person in the studio, had felt like an insignificant pervert. 

He had awkwardly, angrily cleared his throat when Barton’s hands pushed Meilin’s skirt up to expose her strong, pale thighs and they had broken apart, had both turned to him with cocked eyebrows and Wufei had shoved his belongings into his bag and stormed out.

And so, NOW, when they sat on either side of him and Meilin casually took the pen from his hand and begin to outline their project on HIS notebook, while Trowa propped his chin on his hand and reached over Wufei to tap at the paper between them, he couldn’t help but feel like this would all end in a disaster far, far worse than a parent teacher conference and seven stitches.

-o-

Late nights of horrible pizza, of Trowa showing up late to group meetings because of his job, of Meilin making catty remarks when she got too tired, of Wufei unable to form coherent words when the coffee wore off, had meant that, by the time they met the night before their project was due, Wufei knew the other two far better than he had ever expected to. Far better than he had ever dreamed of.

He knew what music they liked - knew that Trowa thought Meilin’s obsession with Hamilton was adorable to the point that he purposely set her up with lines to encourage her to drop in a lyric from the musical. He knew that Trowa was ticklish, especially his sides, and he knew that Meilin used that knowledge to her advantage whenever she thought Trowa was too serious or too cranky. He knew that the biggest argument they had had in recent months was over the fact that Trowa was Team IronMan and Meilin was Team Cap. He knew that they were completely shameless and uninhibited when it came to their relationship. While there was no outright groping, they both touched each other in casual, constant ways that drew Wufei’s attention to them. A press of their shoulders, a hand on the small of the back, a tap of their knees together, a quick, careless kiss on the top of the head. 

It was maddening, to be the silent observer of such perfection, to see the seamless way they worked together, joked and fought, to see the moments when their brains turned towards sex, tipped lips and hooded eyes and flushed cheeks. 

But it wasn’t until that last night, so late that not only were they the only students left in the studio but that the hall lights were dark and even the janitors long gone, that Wufei broke.

He was sitting at the computer, clicking through the assembled slides, Meilin to his right and Trowa leaning over them from behind. 

Trowa reached out and tapped the screen, pointed out a typo and Wufei, in the process of fixing it, thought of a better way to introduce the topic and changed the title heading.

“Nice,” Meilin said and carelessly squeezed his thigh.

Wufei swallowed hard, looked down to see her pale hand resting on his jeans and even though clothing separated them, he felt as though her touch was burning into his skin.

He held himself rigidly still, waiting for her to move away, but she didn’t and he turned his attention back to the screen and continued through the presentation.

When he reached the end, Trowa gave his shoulders a squeeze.

“Good work. We should ace this.”

“At the very least, our presentation will be more professional than whatever nonsense Duo comes up with,” Meilin snorted. She leaned back in her chair, finally moving her hand away, and Wufei breathed a sigh of relief.

“Remember the interpretive dance he used when he had to give that presentation on Roman aqueducts in Intro?” Trowa asked and they both nodded. 

“Idiot,” Meilin said, but her voice was fond. Intro had been a waste of time - the professor nearly seventy and the only thing keeping him from getting fired was his tenure.

“So… would it be presumptuous of us to celebrate?” Trowa suggested.

“Celebrate being better than Duo?” Wufei asked, turning in his chair to arch an eyebrow at Trowa. “Wouldn’t that become a daily occurrence?”

Trowa’s lips quirked.

“I actually meant we should celebrate finally finishing this project.”

“Oh.” That didn’t sound presumptuous at all and Wufei frowned. “How were you planning on celebrating?”

Trowa shrugged one shoulder, looked at Meilin instead of Wufei.

“A drink - Freakin Frog is still open - or, you know, the way Meilin and I usually celebrate momentous occasions.”

Heero looked between them in confusion and waited for one of them to elaborate.

“He means sex,” Meilin said with a roll of her dark eyes. “Trowa is trying in his oh so subtle way to ask you if you want to come over to his apartment and let him fuck you.”

“Oh.”

Wufei didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to think. His brain was finding it almost impossible to put any meaning to those words.

“What… what about you?”

Meilin lifted her brows. “What about me?”

“You… you want Trowa to… fuck me?” Wufei found himself blushing, found himself having to fist his hands at his sides in an effort to NOT reach up and adjust his glasses in the same nervous habit he had had since he was a child.

“If you do, yeah.” She gave him a bright smile, full of teeth and promise. “Of course, if you wanted Trowa to fuck you while YOU fucked me, I’d want that even more.”

All of the blood left Wufei’s head and rushed straight to his groin. All of the saliva left his mouth and disappeared to god only knew where. All rational thought left his brain and vanished into the ether.

“Well?” Trowa prompted. “Interested?”

Wufei could only nod, but it seemed to be enough for them.

“Good.” Meilin stood up. “Pack up your things and let’s go. Trowa’s ONLY be fantasizing about this since we first saw you and as much fun as I’ve had listening to him talk about just how he wants to bend you over and shove his cock up your ass while he fingers me, I’m ready for more than just his words and me imagining how good your cock will feel.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

For the Anon on tumblr who requested 1x2 for #38: “You fainted… straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

 

Pairings: 1x2

Warnings: angst, language, violence

  
  


_ Thirty-Eight _

 

He felt old.

He felt old and tired and misplaced, as though he belonged somewhere else - some _ when _ else - and he had gotten lost.

He also felt irritated.

An alarm was going off, blaring into what, seconds before, had been the silence of early morning.

With a scowl, Heero reached over and shut off the alarm.

Seven-thirty. Why was he getting up at seven-thirty when he had only just fallen into his bed at five?

The alarm wasn’t his regular - six - but then, it was a Saturday, and he had nowhere to be, nothing to -

His phone started to ring.

Heero groaned and wondered just  _ how _ many more ways his life could go wrong. It had seemed that, in the last thirty six hours, he had wracked up an impressive tally already.

He grabbed his phone from the charging cradle and angrily thumbed it on.

Duo’s name and a photograph of him sticking his tongue out dominated the small screen.

Heero hadn’t done that - hadn’t saved Duo’s number or the photo. Duo himself had added them, had either stolen or hacked into Heero’s phone a week after he first purchased and Heero hadn’t cared enough to delete the photo of Duo.

At least, he  _ told _ himself he didn’t care. It was easier than admitting to himself that he  _ did _ care. That he cared too much. That on the too rare occasions when Duo called him, when Heero saw the photograph, his heart and stomach did curious flips in his body that shouldn’t be anatomically possible.

“What?” he growled into the phone.

“Well good morning to you  _ too _ , sunshine,” Duo responded with a chuckle. “Just giving you a wakeup call and see if we’re still on for building the deck today.”

_ Oh _ .

Heero had completely forgotten about that, about the promise he had made Duo months ago to help him add a deck to the other man’s miniscule cottage on the beach.

Duo had asked in the mess, at lunch, in between diatribes about the shitty state of the newest Preventers recruits. Trowa had begged off, lying smoothly about being out of town that weekend to see Cathy; Wufei had sneered and told Duo that he was insane if he thought Wufei had ever - would ever - do manual labor  _ for _ him. Heero had been caught unprepared, when Duo turned hopeful eyes to him, a forkful of mashed potatoes in his mouth that suddenly felt like sand.

He hadn’t been able to think of something - of a lie or a cutting remark - and had found himself nodding instead. Duo had smirked, had risen from his seat and clapped Heero on the back and called him ‘my man.’ And Trowa had given Heero a knowing look and shaken his head.

That had been last week. 

And last week - 

Last week had been a lifetime ago, it felt like.

“Heero?” Duo prompted.

“Hn?”

“Deck? Hard wood getting nailed? Hammers and -”

“Yes,” Heero interrupted what would likely be an impressive string of double entendres and euphemisms. “We’re still on.”

“Right-o. Be over in fifteen to pick you up. Hey, and if you don’t have any protection, don’t worry - I’ve got you covered!”

Heero groaned. “Duo -”

“I’m talking about work gloves man, get your mind out of the gutter, Yuy!”

“Right.”

Duo ended the call and Heero let himself fall back onto the bed.

He grunted as he landed awkwardly and clutched his ribs.

They were bandaged, as tightly as he could stand, broken and bruised, and he wondered if he would have time to rewrap them before Duo arrived.

Probably not, if he wanted to change the bandage on his shoulder.

Heero forced himself to get up and he walked into the bathroom, wincing as he turned on the overhead light and was nearly blinded. 

He blinked at his reflection, thoroughly unimpressed.

Heero  _ looked _ like a man who had only had two hours of sleep - looked like a man who routinely only had two hours of sleep - and there was stubble along his jaw and above his lips.

He ran a hand over the rough hair. He usually shaved, every morning - every other if he couldn’t manage - but he had been in the field for the last four days, unconscious in an alley on L3 and slowly bleeding out for six hours, at the mercy of a crew of gunrunners none too happy to have their warehouse of merchandise seized by the Preventers for a twelve hours before  _ that _ . 

Shaving hadn’t really been on his list of priorities, and it was going to have to take a backseat today as well.

He gingerly tugged the bandage off his shoulder, having to stretch across his wounded ribs to do so and he felt the sharp, breathless pressure of pain.

But pain was okay. Pain had been his lifelong friend, and Heero had long ago taught himself to, if not ignore it entirely, to at least distance his physical state from his mental one.

He worked quickly, cleaning out the gunshot wound thoroughly, and rebandaged it.

Heero managed to brush his teeth and was in the middle of wincing his way through putting on a clean shirt when Duo knocked on his door.

He opened the door to admit the other man, taking in Duo’s grin, the sunglasses hooked on his t-shirt, the tattoos that circled his wrists like cuffs.

“Yo,” Duo greeted him and cocked an eyebrow at the state of Heero’s apartment. 

Messy and uncharacteristic for Heero, which Duo unfortunately knew.

“Haven’t had the chance to clean,” Heero muttered and crowded Duo out of the apartment and back into the hall.

Duo snorted, opened his mouth to comment, but Heero glared at him and he abruptly shut his mouth.

To call the disaster they left behind  _ messy _ would be an understatement.

When Heero had finally been released from his debriefing yesterday, when he had finally made his way home, he had proceeded to thoroughly wreck the place.

He had taken out his anger, his frustrations, all of the emotions that had just risen up to consume him over the past forty-eight hours, on the furniture and the few meager possessions in his apartment.

It had been a mistake - he had regretted it as soon as he wiped the sweat from his eyes and looked at the carnage - and he didn’t need Duo judging him for it. 

The drive to Duo’s cottage was silent, Duo correctly judging Heero’s mood and instead of trying to engage him in conversation, Duo cranked up his radio and started to strum the steering column in time to the music.

When they arrived, Heero followed Duo out of the car and into the house.

It was, if Heero had to ever describe such a thing, the most idyllic house he had ever seen. It was small - with only one bedroom, a bathroom narrow enough that you had to turn sideways to navigate, and a galley kitchen that was separated from the main living space only by an island. 

Duo, when he had given in to Une’s conditions - work for the Preventers or face a lifetime of government surveillance and a possible trial - had immediately set about finding a house. If, he had muttered to Heero in the mess hall, he was going to be stuck on this fucking rock, he would at least live somewhere that made it worth it.

And while the inside of the cottage didn’t seem to live up to that - the outside clearly did. It was right on the water, the sand only yards away from the back of the cottage, and miles and miles of clear blue water stretching out to the horizon.

It was perhaps the exact antithesis of L2, of the life that Duo had known before the war, of the life he had fought for.

However, it was remarkably easy to reconcile Duo to these surroundings. He moved through his house with the kind of slouchy grace that Heero never saw at Preventers headquarters - or in public at all - and then when they stepped outside, Duo smirked at the way the sun glinted off the waves and strapped on his tool belt.

“Alright, ‘Ro, ready to build me a kickass deck?”

“No,” Heero had to be honest, but he sighed and accepted the gloves, hammer and nail bag from Duo.

Duo gave him a look, his smirk fading. “Well… we don’t have to? I mean, I can manage it on my own.” He scratched at the back of his neck. Duo didn’t really have many tells - he was so good at pasting a joker’s grin on his face and laughing while when he should have been writhing in pain. But the neck scratch - Heero had first noticed it when they were fifteen and now, ten years later, it was still the easiest way to tell that Duo was feeling unsure of himself.

Heero sighed and shook his head. “No. I promised to help.”

Duo shrugged. “Well yeah, but -”

“If I leave you unsupervised there’s no telling how unsafe you will make it,” Heero cut in.

Duo stared at him for a minute, still trying to gauge Heero’s mood, but then he shook his head and smirked.

“I think you’re forgetting, buddy, that  _ I _ am the superior engineer.”

“Tell that to Trowa’s roof.”

“Okay but  _ that -” _

Heero had to smirk at the indignant look on Duo’s face.

The long haired man rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath.

“Yeah, laugh it up, Yuy,” he said, voice louder. “Now quit dragging your ass and grab that 2x6.”

After two hours of work - both of them hauling planks into place to build a frame about the piers that Duo had sunk into the ground himself last weekend - Heero was finding it increasingly hard to breathe. Every breathe he took resulted in a sharp, stabbing pain to his chest and he wondered if he was making his ribs worse - wondered  _ how _ much worse he was making them.

Heero paused and wiped the sweat from his face with the hem of his shirt.

“What the - Ro? Why the fuck are there bandages all over you?”

_ Shit _ .

Heero tugged his shirt back down and glared at Duo.

“Minor injury.”

“Your last mission?” Duo asked and he stepped closer.

Heero shrugged and turned away. He did not want to  -  _ could not _ \- talk to Duo about the mission.

“Okay…” Duo gave an exasperated sigh. “Let’s just finish up the frame and we can grab lunch before starting on the planks.”

The thought that there was more - that Heero had hours and  _ hours _ left of this to go - was almost his undoing.

But Heero managed to soldier on, managed to hold the last 2x6 in place while Duo hammered it in and then -

Then he felt a wave of pain and nausea and -

 

-o-

 

Heero drew in a deep breath and became immediately aware of the fact that he was  _ not _ where he was supposed to.

He was prone - his body stretched out on something lumpy and soft and very unfamiliar - and he hurt like hell. 

The air smelled different. He wasn’t in his apartment, wasn’t - wasn’t dying in an alley.

Slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes.

Duo’s home. His couch. The same couch that Heero had unloaded from the moving truck with Duo four years ago when the other man finally decided that he should probably have more furniture than folding chairs.

“Hey.”

He rolled his head back and saw Duo leaning against the wall behind him, arms folded and face grim.

“What happened?”

Duo cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t remember?”

Heero shook his head in the negative. He just remembered the sun beating down on him, remembered sweat on the back of his neck, remembered pain and - nothing else.

Duo’s lips twitched.

“You fainted… straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

Heero closed his eyes. How incredibly embarrassing. Duo would hold this against him for  _ years _ . Duo still gave Wufei shit about being scared of a spider and demanding that Duo get rid of it - and that had been seven years ago.

“Ro.”

Duo’s voice was soft and serious, and it prompted Heero to open his eyes again. He had moved, pushed away from the wall and was dropping into a crouch in front of Heero.

Duo reached out and touched Heero’s shoulder and it was only then that he realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“You bled all over it when you pulled out your stitches so I, ah, kind of cut it away so I could see what the hell was wrong with you.”

“Sorry. I -”

“What the  _ fuck _ are you apologizing for?” Duo’s gaze had suddenly turned fierce. “Bleeding all over my couch or  _ not telling me you had a bullet hole in you _ or lying to me about your fucking ribs or -”

“I didn’t like. It’s minor.”

“Right. That bruising looks  _ real _ minor. Look, Yuy, you don’t get to -”

“Hamisch is dead.”

Duo was shocked into silence.

“What? No. She - I just - what do you mean she’s dead?”

“I mean she’s dead. She was with me on the mission. We got the weapons cache but during our exfiltration she - they grabbed us and they wanted intel but she wouldn’t break and they killed her.” After torturing her for what felt - sounded - like hours while Heero, being worked over just a few feet away, had been unable to do anything but watch when they had finally put a gun to her head, blonde hair plastered to her skull by sweat and blood and dirt, and pulled the trigger.

Duo stared at him.

“I let her die. She - she died because I wasn’t -”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Yuy!” Duo was suddenly in his face, gripping his good shoulder so tightly it felt like his  _ bad _ shoulder. “Shut your mouth.”

Heero scowled. “Wh -”

“You didn’t  _ let _ her do anything, you monumental asshole. She -” Duo paused and drew in a deep breath. “She was the best, Yuy. She was the best recruit I’ve ever trained and you - you did not  _ let _ her do anything. Don’t you fucking  _ dare _ imply that she didn’t make the choice to be there, that she didn’t - that she  _ couldn’t _ \- don’t you fucking dare, Heero.”

Heero swallowed hard, at the emotion in Duo’s voice and on his face. He reached up and wrapped his hand around Duo’s.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I -” he faltered when Duo’s fingers turned and curled against his own.

“You scared the shit out of me Ro,” Duo breathed. “And I - I can’t - you can’t fucking die on me, too.”

 

-o-

  
So SO sorry it took me so long to get to this Anon and I’m sorry that it’s not, like, super explicitly 1x2.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: For Crown of Winterthorne, who requested 6x2 for #18: “It’s my younger sibling’s wedding and my mother won’t shut up about how I’m going to die alone.”

 

Warnings: language

 

Pairings: 1xR, 6x2, 3x5, 13x4

  
  


_ 18 _

 

I was beginning to wonder if my younger sister held a grudge against me.

She had, as a teenager, occasionally been thoughtless and as irritating as any younger sister was capable of being, but she had never struck me as  _ cruel _ .

Still, I was beginning to wonder.

I was sure that, with a wedding this large, planning out the seating chart had been complicated, but did Relena absolutely  _ have _ to put between our mother and Duo Maxwell, her groom’s best man?

My problem wasn’t so much with Duo - I had only met him at Relena and Heero’s engagement party four months ago where, aside from delivering a congratulatory toast that had made both Relena and Heero blush and everyone else laugh, he had demonstrated that his remarkably witty tongue was equally gifted at… other pursuits. I had thought it was a one-off, a blissful, if furtive, fifteen minutes of dirty deeds at the country club my mother had insisted on throwing the party at despite  _ everyone’s _ objections. But then, at the rehearsal dinner last night, Duo had slipped me an extra key to his room, winked at me, and teasingly asked if I would help him rehearse his best man speech. 

I wasn’t the least bit disappointed that the only ‘rehearsal’ Duo had managed had involved whispering all kinds of dirty things in my ear that I  _ sincerely _ hoped didn’t make it into the best man speech.

And even now, as I suffered through the fish course of an impossibly long reception dinner, Duo’s thigh was pressed against mine and his right hand was tracing idle circles around my knee.

He was a distraction, to be sure, but not  _ enough _ of a distraction to compete with my mother, on my other side.

My mother, whom I loved dearly and knew only wanted the best for me, but who, it seemed, was incapable of just appreciating the fact that her daughter was having a dream wedding. 

Instead, my mother seemed to think it was the  _ perfect _ time to point out just how very empty  _ my _ life was - how very few prospects I had for a marriage of my own, and just how many of my exs were now facing their own happily ever afters.

“And Treize, you know - I saw him last week when I was playing tennis with Janice - he’s involved with some doctor now. A pediatric surgeon. Or was it an orthopedic surgeon  What was his name? Chin? Chen? Chan?”

“ _ Chang _ and he’s a pediatric surgeon,” I supplied through gritted teeth, having already been subjected to the list of Wufei Chang’s merits when I met Treize last week for our once a month racquetball game.

“Hm. Yes. Well, as much as I always thought Treize was entirely too egocentric, I do wish you had given things another try with him.”

I had to turn at that and only  _ barely _ refrained from glaring at my mother. 

“Mother, he stood me up on the night I was going to propose to him -  _ because _ I was going to propose to him. What kind of  _ another try _ is there, after that?”

Duo, on my other side, seemed to be keeping half an ear on my conversation while the rest of his attention was focused on the rest of the wedding party. His hand tightened on my knee and I didn’t know if it was a warning or a gesture of comfort.

“I’m only  _ saying _ he’s clearly not as afraid of commitment as you made it sound - after all, he and Chen -”

“ _ Chang _ .”

“-are moving in together and Maria, Treize’s mother, told me they’re planning on buying a house in the Hamptons together.”

My mother looked a little superior as she took in my surprise. It was almost as if she  _ delighted _ in being able to tell me that Treize, the man I had thought I would spend the rest of my life with, seemed to be well on his way to domestic bliss with someone who was nearly my antithesis.

“How wonderful for them,” I managed to force out before picking up my champagne glass and emptying it.

Duo watched me, eyes critical, expressive mouth curved downwards.

I wondered what my chances were of convincing him to escape to the coat closet and indulge in a repeat performance of last night.

“I’m just concerned about you, my darling,” my mother said and reached out to pat my knee.

I froze, all too aware of the fact that Duo’s hand was on my  _ other _ knee and that my mother’s fingers were just inches away from his. 

I swallowed hard and took both of their hands, one in each of my own, and removed them. 

My mother let go, but Duo tangled our fingers together, apparently content to rub circles against my palm instead of my knee. And I, it seemed, was content to let him.

“I appreciate that,” I said to my mother. “But I -”

“I know it must be hard, seeing your younger sister married when you thought it would be you, well, you and Treize, walking down that aisle together first.”

I closed my eyes and forced myself to take a deep breath before responding. I forced myself to remember that my mother loved me and really, only wanted the best for me. She simply didn’t realize how incredibly  _ not helpful _ her comments were.

“I’m very happy for Relena,” I assured her.

“Oh, I know you are dear. I know. I just worry about ever having grandchildren and -”

Beside me, Duo choked on his champagne and I shot him a quelling look.

“I’m quite sure that Relena and Heero plan to provide you with dozens,” I assured her, though I knew, from having to listen to Relena complain about our mother viewing a woman’s role as purely procreative, that Relena intended on having  _ exactly _ two children and no more.

“Hm.” My mother pursed her lips. “And I’m sure they will be  _ gorgeous _ babies, but you, my darling, are the -”

“How about a dance?” Duo asked, suddenly and loudly.

My mother stared at him but Duo gave her his most friendly smile before turning to me and lifting his eyebrows in question.

I sighed and put down my napkin. I was grateful for the rescue, but dancing…

I had too many memories of awkward dancing classes as a child to feel anything but resigned as I looked at the half-empty dance floor.

Duo squeezed my hand and then let go.

I stood up and followed him to the dance floor.

He took in my lack of enthusiasm and offered an apologetic smirk as he slid one arm around my waist and pressed his other hand into mine.

“Sorry - this was the best rescue I could engineer,” he said as I pulled him close. “I didn’t think asking you if you wanted to go fuck me in the bathroom would go over so well with your mom.”

I snorted a laugh and rested my cheek on the top of his head. I wasn’t used to being with someone this much shorter than I was - Treize had actually been an inch taller than me, which he had delighted in pointing out frequently - but I liked tucking Duo against me, feeling the solid press of his body against my own.

I had slept in his room last night, though neither of us had been very interested in sleep, and waking up this morning with his body spooned against my back had been surprisingly nice. Not just because of the press of his early morning erection against me, or because he ruthlessly took advantage of the sensitive spot behind my ear, but because his body felt familiar and comforting and he  _ fit _ me.

“You, Duo Maxwell, have a dirty mouth,” I said into his hair.

“Mm,” he hummed. “It goes with my dirty mind.”

Having been on the receiving end of both, I had to chuckle appreciatively.

We danced for two songs, my unease at both my mother’s  _ helpful _ comments and dancing melting away under the heat of Duo’s presence.

“So, uh…”

I pulled away from Duo enough to look down at him and I saw that he was chewing on his lower lip. He had done that last night, had seemed to be stalling as he worked up the courage to ask me to try fucking him against the wall after we had thoroughly tested out the king sized bed.

I waited patiently - after all, waiting last night had resulted in a  _ very _ pleasant reward.

“I have to head out and work tonight,” Duo said, not meeting my gaze. He fiddled with the lapels of my tuxedo. I found myself absurdly touched by how intimate and yet unsure the gesture was.

“You mean you can’t ignore adult responsibilities and let me take you back to one of our hotel rooms for a repeat of last night?”

Duo smirked up at me.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d  _ love _ to, but those planes aren’t going to land themselves at JFK.”

“What else is autopilot for?”

He rolled his eyes at me but smirked. I found myself envying the pilots who would get to hear Duo’s voice directing their landings tonight. And then I found myself questioning that.

I had, after all, spent less than thirty six hours with Duo - over only three occasions. 

“So, I was wondering, any chance you’d like to… I dunno, go out sometime?” Duo asked in a rush. “If not, that’s okay,” he continued in the same hurried tone. “If this is just a… you know, weddings suck and they suck less when I’m fucking someone kind of thing, that’s cool. It’s not like we have to see each other in the future or anything - I can just tell Ro and Rey that you aren’t interested and they’ll stop whatever devious matchmaking plans they’ve been hatching ever since I told them -” Duo abruptly stopped talking. He snapped his mouth shut and his cheeks flushed.

“Since you told them what?” I asked, unable to keep the smile off my face when he glared up at me.

He heaved a sigh. “Since I told them I thought you were hot and funny as hell and… and asked if there was any chance you’d be interested in a guy like me. I know I’m not - I  _ know _ I’m not like Treize or anything but -”

“Duo,” I interrupted him. I curved my finger under his chin and tilted his head up so that he looked me in the eyes. “I  _ like _ that you are nothing like Treize.”

“Really?” He seemed doubtful.

“Really,” I confirmed. “And not just because sex with you is a  _ lot _ more imaginative, but -” I hesitated, not sure I wanted to tell Duo that I had never been with another man and so quickly felt so at ease in his company, so quickly found myself wanting to learn everything about him, every way to please him and make him smile.

“But?” Duo prompted, still with a little disbelief.

“It’s more than the sex, it’s the fact that you tried to rescue me from my mother. And the way you mercilessly tease Heero and Relena. And the way you flirted with my grandmother.”

“I was  _ not _ flirting with -”

“She told me she hasn’t felt so alive since my grandfather died and you make her wish she was twenty years younger.”

“Just twenty?” He asked with a smirk.

“Are you telling me sixty is past your age cap?”

He chuckled and, finally, relaxed back against me. 

“I mean, if  _ you _ were sixty, I might reconsider. And don’t get me wrong, as far as grandmother’s go, your’s is pretty hot but… she’s kind of missing a few vital parts.”

“Oh really?”

“Mm. I could go into more detail, if you want?”

I didn’t need to look down to know he was smirking, that wicked look that made me shiver and think all sorts of things that weren’t appropriate for the dance floor at my little sister’s wedding.

“I’d like that,” I said after a few minutes of dancing in silence.

“Well, there’s your co -”

“I meant,” I interrupted him with a smile, “that I’d like to go out on a date with you sometime.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded, confident he could feel the motion even if he couldn’t see it.

“And maybe  _ then _ you could tell me all about those vital parts in detail.”

He chuckled and leaned closer and stood on his toes to put his mouth near by ear.

“Or we could slip away and do that  _ now _ ?”

 

-o-

 


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: For CeeCee who requested 6x2 for #22: You’re the DJ at my friend’s wedding and you just played  _ my _ song.

 

Warnings: language, angst

Pairings: 6x2, 1x3

 

Duo actually liked weddings - actually  _ enjoyed _ seeing his close friends tie the knot and settle down to a life of blissful domesticity. He liked getting to stand up and make toasts wishing them every happiness and sharing embarrassingly cute stories about how the lovebirds first met. He liked picking out bizarre wedding gifts to go with whatever was  _ actually _ on the registry. He liked picking out the crankiest looking guests at the reception and dragging them onto the dancefloor or chatting them up until they smiled.

Duo was, on the whole, a great addition to any wedding. He had actually been invited to  _ three _ weddings last year not because he was close with either the groom or the bride - or the other bride in the case of one of those weddings - but because he had the reputation of being a  _ must _ on anyone’s guest list.

Of course, considering that  _ this _ wedding was that of his closest friends - Heero and Trowa - both of whom he had, at one disastrous point or another, briefly dated - and considering that he was Heero’s best man, Duo had gone out of his way to make sure that  _ this _ wedding was perfect. 

Which had involved annoying the wedding planner to the point that she threatened to castrate him, had involved Duo nagging the caterer’s while Trowa was out of town and Heero, Count Antisocial of the Land of Introverts, sat beside him on the couch and glared at the website menus while Duo calmly explained that vegetarian meant  _ no _ fish as well as no  _ other _ meats.

It also meant that Duo had given himself the unimaginable task of running interference between Cathy, Trowa’s sister - who was convinced that only Tom HIddleston or  _ maybe _ the Prime Minister of Canada were worthy of her baby brother’s hand and, since Heero was neither, she had disapproved of the wedding from it’s very announcement - and Relena, Heero’s best friend and captain of his fan club who thought that, even after five years, Trowa didn’t love Heero as much as Heero loved him.

It had been bad enough during the engagement dinner, when they tried to one up each other with passive aggressive toasts to the future happy couple. Duo had had to jump in during the middle of what could only be described as an argument about just who was more perfect, Heero or Trowa, and had delivered a very long and  _ very _ detailed account of Trowa thinking trying to arrange the perfect date to propose for Heero and Heero having the bad manners to go and get stuck in rush hour traffic for two hours while Trowa sat at Masa and suffered through the pointed glares of the maitre’d and drank a $200 bottle of champagne alone.

Duo had thought that after the ceremony Relena and Cathy would relax - or at least ease up a bit since it was a fait accompli. On the contrary, they seemed even  _ more _ determined to prove whose man was best and Duo was running out of ways to distract them.

It wasn’t until, dancing with Cathy and listening to her remark, yet again, that there was nothing  _ wrong _ with Heero, that he was a  _ wonderful _ friend to Trowa and of course Heero deserved to be happy but -

But Duo had had enough of it and he neatly maneuvered Cathy into Relena and grabbed the arm of Hilde, Duo’s best friend and unwilling assistant in keeping Relena and Cathy from committing murder, and spun her away to the opposite side of the dance floor.

Relena and Cathy had glared at each other for a moment and then, remarkably, started to dance together.

And they continued to dance together for another three songs, before Trowa and Heero smirkingly cut in.

Duo, by that point at the bar and rewarding himself with a  _ much _ deserved vodka tonic, had felt very smug. 

The moment of smug satisfaction lasted for  _ only _ a moment.

Because then he heard the all too familiar opening chords of Bright Eyes  _ First Day of My Life _ begin to play.

Duo turned to the bar and tossed back the last of his drink and he cursed himself for being a  _ complete _ idiot.

In an effort to ensure that Trowa and Heero’s reception was perfect, and in a further effort to placate Relena since Cathy’s suggestion of florist had trumped Relena’s, Duo had agreed with Relena that her brother, Zechs, would be a perfect DJ for the wedding reception.

Zechs, who worked as a music producer for some indie label by day and by night mixed for clubs that were too cool for Duo to even dream of setting foot in, 

Zechs, who Duo had dumped two weeks ago after dating him for almost a year.

Duo turned away from the bar and glared at the DJ, furious that he had the audacity to play his song -  _ their _ song.

And of course Zechs was looking right at him, pale blue eyes shining in the low light, sculpted features as breathtaking as ever, his tall body lean and immaculate and showed off to advantage in the trousers, vest and rolled up sleeves of his dress shirt. He had abandoned his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and Duo felt his own body respond to Zechs’ unabashedly open stare.

Fuck Zechs for being the most gorgeous man Duo had ever been with. Fuck him for being able to just  _ look _ at Duo and make him remember all of the good times. Fuck his smirk and his hair and -

Duo turned on his heel and walked out of the ballroom. He wasn’t doing this. Not here, not today. Not ever.

He was out in the hall, walking fast without any real thought to where he was going - not up to his hotel room, not to the lobby or the bar, maybe outside? - when he felt someone grab his arm.

Duo didn’t need to look down at the hand to know who it was. He tried to shrug him off.

“Duo.”

He stopped and turned to glare up at Zechs.  The bastard was, of course, even more irresistible up close.

“I’m not doing this, Zechs,” Duo snapped.

“Not doing what? Acting like an angsty teenager who refuses to -”

“Don’t you fucking  _ dare _ -”

“You won’t even  _ listen _ to -”

“I don’t care what you -”

“You owe me the chance to explain what -”

“I don’t owe you  _ shit _ , Zechs. And I sure as hell don’t need to listen to you tell me that I was -what? A year long fucking fling while your ex was off in Germany? Some piece of ass to keep you from getting too lonely until he was back? I fucking  _ saw _ you two together, Zechs - I saw you kiss him and I -”

“ _ Stop _ and let me get a word in.”

Duo snorted. “Going to talk your way out of this one?” Duo shook his head. “No thanks. I spent a year with you, Zechs. I know how this is going to go. You’re going to tell me I’m just being a  _ child _ or that I was mistaken and you’re going to use that fucking patronizing tone on me and you’re going to say something about how good you can make me feel and you -”

Zechs was just staring at him, not even trying to interrupt anymore, and Duo found himself suddenly out of steam.

“I’m not doing this with you,” he said again, softer, pleading now. “Please.”

Zechs sighed and his hand, still on Duo’s arm, slid down to his wrist and then his palm. Zechs knitted their fingers together and Duo stared at them, at Zechs’ slightly paler skin.

“You were more than a piece of ass and you were more than a fling. I’m sorry.”

Even though he had told Zechs he wasn’t doing this, even though he had begged him not to try to manipulate him - Duo hadn’t been expecting that. Hadn’t been expecting Zechs to not deny it all.

It hit him like a blow, the crushing realization that this really was over, that Zechs really had cheated on him, really had -

“Then what the hell was I?” Duo hated how desperate he sounded.

Zechs squeezed his hand. “You were the only thing keeping me sane. You - you made me realize how much more I wanted. How much more I needed.”

Duo snorted. “Don’t tell me this is going to turn into the ‘I want you back’ speech.”

“No,” Zechs said, brutally honest.

“Oh.” It had hurt before, to hear Zechs’ soft apology. It hurt even more now, to hear him say that.

Zechs reached out and tugged on Duo’s bowtie, a teasing gesture that was still somehow condescending.

Duo glared up at him and Zechs smirked.

“You will always be a very important person, Duo. You changed my life. But you aren’t the person I want to spend my life  _ with _ . One day you’ll understand, I hope.”

Duo could only stare up at him, for a solid minute, before he let out a bitter chuckle and shook his head.

“Unfucking believable. Yeah. Okay.” Duo took a step back and then another, deciding that outside - far away from here - was where he needed to be. 

As far away from Zechs as he could possibly get.

 

-o-

  
  
  
  



	13. Chapter 13

A/N: For Morbidbirdy who requested 1x2 for #7: “We’re assigned to the mission in which we have to pretend to be a married couple, but I’m actually really in love with you.”

 

Warnings: angst, language, sexy times

Pairings: 1x2

 

_ Lucky Number Seven _

 

Vegas. 

I remembered hearing about it, the first time I came to Earth. Remembered the mythical way people talked about it - the city where you can make your fortune. Where anything is possible. Where you can eat food at any hour of the day. Where you can get your hands on beautiful naked people at any hour of the day. Where drugs flow freer than creds from poor saps fingers into slot machines.

Land of gamblers and lost souls.

It sounded to me like it was just a fancier version of the L2 slums I had grown up in. Sounded like a bunch of bullshit vapor dreams that only an idiot - or someone desperate - would believe in.

So I had made it a point of  _ not _ going to Vegas, ever. Because I had been told repeatedly that I was an idiot, and I knew, from personal experience, that I was desperate.

Funny how becoming a child soldier and then winning a war only to find out that I was one of the losers and stuck working for the ESUN government for - probably - the rest of my life made me feel desperate.

Space, it was decided, was not a safe place to unleash Duo Maxwell. Something about me being likely to foment rebellion.

Likely. Hell, I was  _ definitely _ going to foment rebellion and I resented being underestimated.

Of course, trapped as I was living in the  _ most _ hideous barracks ever devised and commuting all of seventy meters from my bunk to my office in the even more hideous Preventers HQ, my options for rebellion were pretty limited.

I got the mess hall workers to strike for better wages - which earned me a month of probation. Convinced Chang to agitate for fair trade coffee - another month. And of course, I flat out refused to cut my hair - if female Prevs didn’t have to cut theirs, there was no fucking way I was cutting mine. Another month for that - extended when, not able to help myself, I told Une that I would be  _ happy _ to give her a trim.

So yeah, I was desperate. And an idiot. 

But more about the desperate thing - when I overheard that there was a sting operation going down in Vegas, heard they needed someone to go in undercover as my buddy Heero’s wingman since his usual partner, Trowa, was laid up after having the poor judgement to get himself shot, I threw myself on Une’s non-existent mercy and  _ begged _ .

I was convinced - two hundred percent positive - that if I didn’t get out of this place I was going to start making explosive devices and renovating the buildings to include a helluva lot more windows.

Une had looked, very briefly, amused before she turned down my request.

So I’d started to barter - I’d be good, oh so very very good and I would scrap my plans to have the motor-pool guys strike until all of the cars were replaced with electric models. I’d leave off convincing the janitors that they needed to be considered active agents and receive the same benefits that anyone else did. It was at that point that I realized I was actually making things worse - Une’s eyes narrowing dangerously and I shut up before I could incriminate myself any further.

It was only the timely intervention of Heero, lurking just outside of Une’s office in an effort to entertain himself with yet another display of my idiocy, that saved me from a lifetime of probation.

“Duo would be perfect,” he told Une.

She had barked out a laugh that was probably a reflection of her opinion of using perfect as an adjective to describe me. Even I was a little taken aback.

“I’m serious,” Heero, who was never anything but, continued. “This is going to be a dangerous mission and he is uniquely qualified.”

Une pursed her lips and glared at each of us.

“If anything goes wrong, you will be held responsible.”

I wasn’t sure who she was talking about and I gestured to myself with the thumb of my right hand.

“Obviously not you. Yuy.”

“Oh.” I had to look over and grin at him. “Just like old times, then, eh?”

He managed to look at me with an expression somewhere between a scowl and a smirk.

“Except we’re not going undercover as high school students,” he said.

I rubbed my hands together. “Awesome. Cuz that’s too easy - plus I don’t really want to hang out with kids seven years younger than me. So what’s the set-up?”

“You two,” Une said with what was very clearly glee, “will be a newly married couple honeymooning in Las Vegas - very rich, very gullible. The perfect targets for a criminal organization that is kidnapping Terran citizens and shipping them off to deep space mining facilities to be used as slave labor.”

“Oh. Uh. Wait. Did you say  _ married _ ?”

“Yes. I’m so very glad your hearing and comprehension are in excellent order.”

I refrained from glaring at her - even  _ I _ wasn’t that much of an idiot. Besides, I was too busy staring at Heero.

At the guy I had been in love with ever since he’d rescued me from OZ. The guy who, I was pretty sure, thought I was the most colossal waste of time of oxygen and carbon he had ever encountered.

The guy who was about to be my fake husband.

 

-o-

 

Things started off rough and went worse faster than Heero plummeting to the ground because the asshole didn’t believe in parachutes.

Our hotel room had a king sized bed - cool - and a chair. Heero refused to sleep on the floor and  _ I _ refused to as well - I hadn’t escaped from the barracks just to kip on a  _ floor _ for a week. So we ended up sharing an enormous bed that I was pretty sure, with some precision work, I could have parked Deathscythe in. I hugged one side of the bed and Heero hugged the other and there could have been a field of landmines between us for all the care we gave that empty space.

It didn’t matter. In the morning I woke up with a boner, as per usual. The  _ unusual _ thing was the fact that it was pressed against Heero Yuy’s sculpted ass. That was dangerous enough. Even more dangerous was the fact that my hand had decided it really wanted to be cut off - it was wrapped around Heero’s equally sculpted torso and curled against his skin.

I laid there for a moment, frozen in equal parts terror and ecstasy - trying to memorize the feel and smell of Heero because I  _ knew _ I would never get this close again - because I was probably going to be murdered as soon as Heero woke up.

I shifted away as calmly and smoothly as possible, retreating back to my side of the bed and then getting out of it and creeping around to lock myself into the bathroom.

Just before I closed the door, I glanced in the mirror and saw Heero’s reflection, saw his perfect body nestled in the sheets, saw his breathtaking eyes, his tousled hair, his -

Holy shit. 

His eyes were open and he was looking at me. Looking right  _ at _ me. 

I decided that retreat was the better part of valor and slammed the door shut and locked it. 

The day continued to go downhill.

We weren’t sure  _ when _ we would be approached by the would be slavers - we just knew that, at some point, we would be invited to a high stakes poker game that was stacked against us, designed to clean us out, and result in us being smuggled on the next flight out to a mining colony for the honeymoon of our nightmares.

So the gameplan was to act like lovesick, gullible idiots with money to burn every time we stepped foot outside of our rooms.

Which meant feeding each other breakfast - his idea.

Walking down around the casino hand in hand - my idea.

Kissing for good luck when we gambled at the roulette tables - his idea.

Drinking too much at dinner and giggling at our inability to win even a single hand of Blackjack - my idea, but I was pretty sure Heero actually  _ was _ drunk enough to find it funny and I knew that I was sober enough to want to laugh my ass off at the idea of flushing the Preventers operating budget down the drain.

By the time we stumbled back to our hotel room, I was actually feeling fairly confident that Heero wouldn’t murder me in my sleep for the whole my dick saying good morning to his ass incident.

Of course, as soon as he stripped down to his boxers for bed that night, all I could think about was that ass. Well, that ass and the quick press of his lips against mine - for luck he had said - before I lost two hundred dollars at roulette. And the feel of his callous-roughened hand against mine. And his laugh - a laugh that I’d heard before but way too rarely. 

Even just thinking about his laugh had me smiling again and when I joined him in the bed, I was pretty sure he wasn’t hanging onto his edge for dear life. Pretty sure, in fact, that he had moved several inches closer to the center of the bed.

So I allowed myself the luxury of stretching out on my side, spreading my arms and legs as wide as I dared, and sighed happily. 

This was  _ so _ much better than my shitty twin mattress in the barracks.

“Night, Duo,” Heero whispered and I smiled into my pillow.

“Night, Ro.”

 

-o-

 

I woke up the next day in the same exact same position as the day before only this time… this time Heero’s arm rested against mine, holding me against him, holding me in place and I…

I had no idea what to do. I didn’t know if he was awake, didn’t know if he was holding me in place because maybe my hand had started to drift somewhere he didn’t want it going, didn’t know if he was holding me in place and waiting for me to wake up so he could break my arm and I - 

I drew a deep breath and told my overactive imagination to chill out.

“Ro?” I called his name softly.

When he didn’t answer I gently tried to pull my arm free. 

His grip tightened on me.

“Ro?” 

“This wasn’t part of the plan.”

His voice was soft, a little gravelly with sleep, and I could not help but think he had never sounded sexier.

I had to clear my own throat before I spoke again.

“What?”

“This,” he said and tugged on my arm, using it to pull the rest of my body flush with his back, which had the - probably - unintended consequence of my morning erection sliding between his legs and it took all of my pretty non-existent self-control to lay still and not try to move.

“Uh, I’m sorry? I’ve never shared a bed with anyone and I didn’t… it’s not like I’m  _ trying _ to, you know, grope you in your sleep.”

“I wish you were.”

“You -  _ what _ ?”

He moved against me, pushing his ass  _ down _ and I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Ro, can you not -”

“Sorry.” He was instantly shifting away, and now it was my turn to pull him back.

“No, I’m not - Ro, what do you mean you  _ wish _ I was trying to grope you in your sleep?”

“I wish you were trying to grope me - I wish it was intentional. Not necessarily in my sleep. I would  _ prefer _ to be conscious for it.”

“I, uh… you’re not fucking with me?”

He moved away from me enough to roll over and glare at me.

Despite the glare, though, his lips were curved into a smirk.

“I’d rather fuck you then fuck  _ with _ you.”

My brain was struggling to come to grips with what he was saying, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I was still asleep.

I reached out and pinched him.

“Ow!” He scowled and shoved my fingers away.

“Sorry, just… trying to see if this was a dream.”

“I think you’re supposed to pinch yourself,” he said with an arched eyebrow.

“Right.” I repeated it on myself, hard enough that I winced.

“Awake?” he asked.

“Apparently. I, uh, Ro, you… you’re not just…” I licked my lips, afraid to even ask. “You’re not just doing this for the sake of the mission?”

“I checked for security cameras when we arrived, there aren’t any.”

“So…”

“So anything that happens in this room has nothing to do with our mission.”

I noticed, then, that he looked a little unsure and it might have been the first time I had ever seen him less than overconfident.

“Ro, you - you gotta know how I feel about you.”

He looked expectant.

“You really - you have no clue? Ro, I’m crazy about you. I -”

I didn’t get to say anything else. He more or less - more - tackled me, wrapping his arms around me and pressing his lips to mine.

That went on for a while, until breathing became critical and we pulled apart.

He looked down at me, I looked up at him, and I swear, I’ve never seen him look happier.

Or cockier.

I used a little maneuver Wufei had taught me and flipped us so that Heero was trapped under me and I held his hands stretched above his head, body secured by my ass firmly seated on his groin.

My ass wasn’t the  _ only _ firm thing in that region, and I let myself shift around a bit, trying to find the best position.

Heero’s eyes narrowed dangerously and I had to smirk.

“So,” I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his bare chest, just above his heart, “what was that about fucking me?”

 

-o-

 

I’d like to say that we then had a marathon week of sex in our hotel room - I’d love to say that we had sex on every surface, from the bed to the floor to that chair to the huge bathtub to the bathroom mirror to the vanity to the door - but the reality is that almost as soon as we hit the casino floor that afternoon we were approached by a gorgeous man who asked us if we wanted to join in an  _ exclusive _ poker game that night.

I was a little irritated - after all, I had already more or less planned out our non-mission activities for the foreseeable future - but I also recognized the man as someone who had been lurking around yesterday when Heero and I got drunk and lost so much money.

I wanted, really  _ really _ wanted to say to hell with the mission and just drag Heero back to our room, but that bastard had other plans.

“We’d love to,” Heero said and put an arm around my shoulders in a smooth move that I was sure looked like a gesture of his affection but that  _ I _ knew was a warning.

The guy moved off after telling us when and where the game was - and casually letting us know that the buy-in for the game was more than  _ my _ pathetic Preventers annual salary - by a  _ lot _ .

We had lunch, visited a few more BlackJack tables and I had a  _ very _ good time losing a  _ lot _ of money, but then Heero let me drag him back to the hotel room and I made sure to put the few hours we had before the big game to good use.

We didn’t get to christen  _ every _ surface - but we got to more than a few. Not enough, but, well,  _ enough _ .

And then we dressed up in fancy suits that I was pretty sure came from the same tailor that Quatre used. Only, unlike Quatre, Heero and I were packing enough heat to support a small revolution. Also unlike Quatre, we were facing the very real threat of getting our asses shipped off to a mining colony if we fucked this up.

The poker game was in the back room of a back room of a back alley casino - the kind of place that, if  _ Wufei _ had been in charge of mission planning, would have been hit with a few strafing runs before we even attempted to enter.

We were led to a table that was already occupied by people who looked richer than they were smart, and I had a moment of absolute glee as I sat down and thought back to the other day when I’d stood in Une’s office and begged to go on this mission.

When Heero had said that I would be  _ perfect _ for this mission - when he’d gone so far as to say that I was  _ uniquely qualified _ . The look of surprise on Une’s face was, without a doubt, the highlight of my Preventers career thus far.

Hearing Heero freely compliment me like that, in public, had been more than a little shocking for  _ me _ .

But then, he was right.

I  _ was _ perfect for this mission and I  _ was _ uniquely qualified.

Because, despite the charade I’d been playing over the past two days, I was a damn good gambler - just ask any poor sap with Preventers who had ever had the misfortune of sitting down at my table during the Friday night poker games we ran in the mess hall.

So, I settled into my seat beside Heero, leaned over and gave him a kiss just because I could, and prepared to take down some bad guys. And win a hell of a lot of money.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: For Crafty Companion, who requested 2x3 for “I know I’m your best man, but maybe I should mention that I’m in love with you.”

And we all owe Maevemauvaise a HUGE thanks because she saved this from going down a VERY, VERY dark path (I will explain at the end). 

 

Pairings: 2x3, 3x4

Warnings: language, angst

  
  


Trowa looked into the floor-length mirror and gave his bowtie another tug. It still didn’t look perfect, canting to the left ever so slightly - just enough to be noticeable.

“Here, lemme have a go.”

Strong, familiar hands on his shoulders turned Trowa around and he looked into the face of his best man and long-time best friend, Duo. The other man was slightly shorter than Trowa, the tip of his nose just barely reaching Trowa’s chin when they stood eye to eye like this.

Duo ducked his head and focused his attention on the rebellious bowtie, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he concentrated.

Trowa sighed as Duo completely undid the bow tie.

“Hey, you’re the one who can’t properly tie it,” Duo pointed out.

“I’m going to be late.”

Duo looked up at him and offered a slight smirk.

“I’m pretty sure, all things considered, they’ll hold for you. You kinda need two for this to work, yanno? And if Quatre is ready to spend the rest of his life as Mr. Winner -Bloom -”

“Mr. Winner. We decided to keep our own names.”

“No hyphen?”

“No - the company letterhead and -”

Duo snorted derisively and shook his head.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he mumbled under his breath and tugged on Trowa’s collar, none too gently. “You’d think the guy wouldn’t mind the effort to -”

“It’s fine,” Trowa interrupted Duo. He reached up and took hold of Duo’s fingers, squeezing them in an effort to reassure both Duo and himself. “It’s fine,” he repeated.

His fiance - husband in a matter of minutes - was an incredibly important man, the president of a company that had been in his family for generations and Trowa understood precisely why Quatre had backed down from changing his name to Winner-Bloom.

Perhaps, if Trowa had been equally important - equally wealthy and famous and their union hailed as a financial coup instead of a modern day Cinderella story - Quatre would feel comfortable changing his name. 

But Trowa  _ wasn’t _ important or wealthy or famous. He was just the sailing instructor who had had his life changed the day Quatre Winner walked into it.

He tried not to let those thoughts show too much on his face.

“Speaking of fine,” Duo said in an obvious change of subject, “that bow tie - is looking damn sharp.”

Duo clapped him on the shoulders and turned Trowa back around.

Trowa looked at himself in the mirror again, conscious of Duo just behind him, of Duo’s hand still on his shoulder.

The bow tie looked perfect - in fact, Trowa himself looked like he had stepped out of a suit advertisement. Everything was impeccably - expensively - tailored. He was wearing a  _ fortune _ , standing in the dressing room at a church that had cost tens of thousands of dollars to reserve for just this day.

He was standing there, looking at himself in the mirror, and completely unable to recognize the man in the reflection.

“So…”

Duo’s voice sounded strange, slightly off-pitch, and Trowa met his dark gaze in the mirror. Duo offered him a small, almost apologetic smirk.

“I know I’m your best man, but…” Duo paused and drew in a deep breath. Trowa felt his stomach drop.  _ But _ was never a good thing. “But,” Duo continued, voice stronger, “maybe I should mention that I’m in love with you.”

Duo was staring right at him, blue gaze open and full and it took Trowa a moment to remember that he should breathe. That breathing was necessary. That he couldn’t  _ actually _ let himself drown in Duo’s eyes.

“I, uh… say something, please. I just threw myself at you and I -” Duo reached up and pushed his messy bangs away, a nervous gesture that Trowa had picked up on the first day they had met.

“Duo, I -”

“ _ Cut!” _

“Fuck,” Trowa muttered under his breath and he sighed. He’d done it again.

Duo gave him a look that was part amused, part exasperated.

“Trowa, his name is  _ not _ Duo, it’s -”

“Alex, I know. I’m sorry.” 

The director glared at Trowa, her irritation very,  _ very _ palpable. 

Trowa didn’t blame her - it was the third time while filming this scene that he had called Duo not by his character’s name, Alex, but by his  _ own _ name.

Trowa looked around the set, at the array of cameras and lights and the tiny army of the production team that was assembled just beyond the edge of the carpet for the dressing room interior.

Everyone looked tired, cranky, irritated by having their time wasted yet  _ again _ .

Trowa swallowed hard and looked away.

“Hey,” Duo reached out and squeezed his shoulder, the gesture solid and  _ real _ and Trowa looked into his eyes. “It happens, man.”

“Let’s go again from the -” the director turned away, stalking back to her position, but her assistant loudly cleared his throat, interrupting her.

The director glared at him, and if looks could kill, the man would be dead on the spot.

“You have a dinner with your daughter and husband in half an hour and you -”

“Fuck.  _ Fine _ . That’s it for today, people but  _ you _ -” she pointed at Trowa, “you better get it through your head that he is  _ Alex _ and not  _ Duo _ .”

The director walked away and it was as if a switched had been turned - everyone went into action, packing away equipment and moving away from the set as if told to flee for their lives.

Trowa sighed and walked away as well, quickly and with his head down. He needed to get out of this costume, off of this set, and away from the disappointment and frustration in everyone’s eyes. 

Most of all, he needed to get away from  _ Duo _ .

Trowa knew that he had been cast in this film, in large part, because his sister had written the screenplay and  _ begged _ the director, an old friend from film school, to give her baby brother a shot. That had weighed heavily on him from the beginning and even though the film was a low-budget indie, Trowa was by far the least experienced actor. Everyone - from Duo to the gorgeous blond that played Quatre to the actors cast as Trowa’s co-workers and parents and sister - was more experienced, was  _ good _ .

And then there was Trowa. Inexperienced, untalented Trowa who knew he had only been cast because Cathy had begged and because he wasn’t hideous to look at.

And that was… well, it wasn’t  _ fine _ but that was how things were and Trowa had decided to make the best of it, to do his damn best not to fuck this up and he’d been doing okay, had spent the first three weeks of filming doing  _ fine _ if not great but then Duo had shown up. 

Duo Maxwell, talented, openly-gay, personable and friendly to the point that every member of crafts services, hair and makeup and lighting would probably lay down their lives for him.

He was also ridiculously, inhumanly gorgeous. And Trowa… Trowa had always had a thing for long hair, for confident smirks and it wasn’t  _ fair _ that every time they filmed a scene together all Trowa could think about was Duo. Duo, not Alex. Not the script or the movie or  _ anything _ except Duo.

It was hard enough to remember his  _ own _ name when confronted with Duo’s beauty - impossible to remember that Trowa was supposed to call him  _ Alex _ .

“Hey.”

Trowa, standing in only his boxers as he passed his suit over to the wardrobe assistant, looked up to see Duo, still in costume, leaning against the wall.

“Hey,” Trowa repeated, feeling more than a little stupid, standing there half-naked and unable to come up with anything wittier than  _ hey _ .

Duo smirked, the expression cocky and if he hadn’t been such a thoroughly  _ good _ person that look would have made him unbearable.

“Wanna grab a drink?”

Trowa frowned.

“Me?” he pointed at himself.

Duo made a show of looking around, at the completely empty room.

“Yeah, you.”

“Why?”

Duo shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno. Maybe you’re thirsty? Maybe you want to get out of here and relax and -”

“No, why do  _ you _ want to get a drink with  _ me _ ?”

“Aside from the obvious?” Duo smirked again and his eyes flicked down, taking in Trowa’s exposed body, before focusing back on his face. “I dunno. Thought it might be nice? Get to know you… complain about work and -”

“It would be easier to complain about  _ me _ if I wasn’t there,” Trowa pointed out.

Duo rolled his eyes. “It’s not that big of a deal! You know, the first movie I made - I mean, the first one when I had actual lines that weren’t screams of agony as I was murdered because that’s what  _ always _ happens to Onlooker #3 in horror films - the first movie I made, I played this fast food server and I was supposed to say “Welcome to Chuck’s, what can I get you?” But I have this, uh,  _ problem _ with my s’s sometimes - dunno if you’ve noticed?”

Trowa shook his head in the negative.

“Yeah, well, after getting yelled at by the director - he was such a fucking prick - in front of the entire cast and crew for an  _ hour _ straight while the guy starring in the movie just sat back and  _ laughed _ his ass off - I spent the next two years working with a speech therapist and vocal coach so that it, ah, well - I’m  _ told _ it’s only noticeable now when I’m really drunk or  _ really _ close to getting off.”

Trowa could only stare. The mental image of Duo on the cusp of orgasm was a hard one to shake.

He felt a very sudden,  _ very _ strong desire to see if Duo was making this whole thing up, or if he actually  _ did _ develop a lisp during sex.

“So how about it?”

“Sex?”

Duo laughed loudly but then he shook his head and smirked.

“I meant the drink?”

“Oh.” Trowa flushed, feeling like such an  _ idiot _ .

Duo arched an eyebrow. “I’m not saying sex is off the table, just that, you know, I’d like to get to know you first, is all.”

Trowa met his gaze, saw the frank appreciation in Duo’s eyes.

“That sounds good,” he decided.

“The drink or the sex?” Duo teased.

“Whichever lets me hear your lisp first,” Trowa retorted and Duo’s eyes widened before he laughed again.

“Alright. Deal.” He gestured to Trowa. “I’ll let you get dressed - and meet you out front in ten?”

Trowa nodded and Duo offered him a salute before pushing away from the wall.

Trowa watched him go, the swagger in Duo’s walk somewhere between sexy and amusing, and then looked around for his clothes.

So maybe today had been a total disaster, but there was no reason  _ tonight _ couldn’t be an improvement.

  
  


-o-

 

Notes:

So when I initially received this request I was prepared to make this ANGSTY AS ALL because I have SUCH a problem with the whole trope of admitting you love someone when they are about to get married to someone else.

I just… can you IMAGINE what it feels like to be that other person? To be ready to spend the rest of your life with someone and then, out of the blue, on the DAY OF YOUR WEDDING, the love of your life is all ‘actually I just had a five minute conversation with my bud and I’m out. Peace.’

So this was GOING to be Duo confessing his love for Trowa and Trowa still marrying Quatre because HE loved Quatre and it’s just… not okay.

But then Maeve had the brilliant suggestion that maybe it’s not real - that maybe it could be filming a movie or a play. So, THANK YOU Maeve, for saving this from the pit of despair, because that was where it was headed otherwise.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: For Crown of Winterthorne, who requested 6x2 for #23: I want you to tie me up so I can’t get away.”

 

Warnings: angst, language, sex

Pairings: 6x2

 

It was the moment just before that Zechs loved the most. He enjoyed all of it, of course, appreciated the nuance of each and every moment.

Their eyes meeting, holding, and the swift kick of lust that hit his nerves, the tingle of danger and anticipation that reminded him, more than a little, of the ZERO system.

The way Duo’s face transformed, turned on that look as his lips curved and his eyes darkened. Duo’s whole body would become almost boneless, the affected languor hiding the strength and power in his lithe form. And he would stand, slowly, taking his precious damn time, and stretch, one hand running over his torso to keep his shirt in check while the other reached high, and Zechs was never the only one watching him, at that point.

But he was the only one following him, out of whatever dive bar they happened to be in, onto the dark streets, down narrow alleys and through shabby, worn lobbies and hallways with flickering lights.

Crowding Duo against the door as he reached for his key, leaning down to breathe in his scent, just above his pulse point, and feeling Duo shudder as he fought the urge to lean back, to touch him.

And then, door locked and windows secured, Duo stripping out of his clothes, not even needed to be asked or  _ told _ , not even the first time, and Zechs sitting on a bed or a chair, legs sprawled wide, watching.

Until, naked, Duo stepped close, just out of reach unless Zechs leaned forward and grabbed him, and their eyes met again.

It was that moment that Zechs loved the most. The moment before it all began. The moment when Duo seemed to be fighting a battle, against himself, against Zechs. Everything hinged on that moment - everything that followed depended on Duo’s decision in those taut heartbeats.

He would give in, going down to his knees like a supplicant and beg to be fucked. Or he would fight, would tease and torment and lash out, knowing all of the triggers, all of the ways to make Zechs react and fight back, and even then, eventually, he would beg too, usually when he was bruised, usually when Zechs could taste blood in their kisses, Duo would close his eyes and beg.

It was the moment of supreme tension and uncertainty, like being called to the hangar to report to his mobile suit and sitting in the cockpit, running through the startup sequence and waiting to see who his enemy was. Waiting to see how outnumbered, how challenging, how deadly the battle would be.

There was no way to predict Duo’s moods. Zechs had tried, for a while, but he hadn’t been able to establish a pattern and, frankly, he wasn’t all that interested in diminishing the risk associated with taking Death to bed. 

This time, tonight, it was different. The whole dance so dramatically different that Zechs really didn’t know what to expect, however.

He didn’t track Duo down in some bar this time. It was Relena’s birthday, and they were in Sanc, Zechs in full court dress, and Duo- Duo should not have been there.

He was invited, of course. He was invited every year, but he never came. Not until this year.

When Zechs saw him, when their eyes met and held across the ballroom. Duo wasn’t in his spacer clothes - the rough and just barely patched enough to stay in one piece jacket, thermal shirt and stained canvas pants tucked into even more worn boots. He was dressed in clothes he had to have borrowed, or, Zechs realized as he looked at how well the white breeches, cut-away frock coat and the embroidered waistcoat fit him, Duo had had them  _ made _ . The boots that came up past his knees, the expensive riding boots that were polished to be as reflective as the marble floor under his feet, made Duo’s legs somehow look endless. The blood red cravat wrapped around his neck, wound tight and fluffed over the top of his vest, was practically an insult. Everyone else in the entire ballroom wore a white cravat. But not Duo. 

Zechs stalked across the floor, barely bothered to apologize to the dancers he collided with, and he grabbed Duo’s arm.

_ “What the hell are you doing here _ ?”

Duo just grinned, wide and empty, and his eyes went that dangerous shade of violet that meant pain was imminent.

“I was invited,” he said, his tone so deceptively neutral. His eyes went to Zechs’ hand on his wrist.

They never touched, not in public, not until Duo was naked and not until  _ after _ that moment - until Duo had made his choice.

Zechs dropped his hand, knowing he had overstepped, had broken those rules, and he felt humiliated. 

Another weakness, another trigger Duo had pulled.

“You should ask me to dance,” Duo suggested. He waved a hand. “Maybe everyone will stop staring at us then.”

Zechs sincerely doubted that, but he held out his hand and smoothed his face into the neutral, patrician mask he had perfected after the murder of his parents and the destruction of the life he had known.

Duo fit his gloved hand into Zechs’ palm, and they moved to the center of the floor, sharks parting the water around them and the prey scattering, giving them a wide berth as Zechs took Duo into his arms.

They were silent, Zechs swallowed up in the mockery of this moment, of having Duo smirking up at him as though he were a careless, pretty suitor with nothing on his mind except for winning the heart of a prince.

It felt wrong, felt like some elaborate game, some plot that Zechs wouldn’t be able to foil, and it felt like  _ losing _ . It made Zechs furious, made him a little afraid, and brought back that old worry - that old insult.

_ Coward _ .

Was he? Would Duo see it now? Would he sense it in Zechs’ posture? In his eyes? In his taste -  _ if _ Duo bothered to let things go that far?

The dance ended, mercifully, and Duo stepped away, his eyes shining and his mouth curved, and Zechs followed him.

He didn’t trust it, the semblance of restored order as Duo led the way and Zechs stalked him, through palace corridors, through  _ hidden _ corridors that Duo should have no knowledge of, until they arrived in an all-too-familiar wing. Until Duo stopped and leaned back against the door, leaning against the frame opposite the door latch, and folded his arms and lifted his eyebrows in a challenge that felt more like a duel than anything else between them ever had.

Would opening the door mean surrender? Or would it mean acceptance of the challenge?

Zechs stepped forward, close enough that he loomed over Duo and the other man sucked in a breath, straightened and stared up at him, and Zechs saw it then, in his eyes. The fear and uncertainty that were blinked away an instant late.

And he smirked, cold and cruel, the expression he wore when Duo tried his best to fight him, to push him off or break him.

He reached for the door, opened it, and let it swing open.

Duo swallowed hard, seemed suddenly off balance, and Zechs felt equilibrium come back to him, felt the world start to reorder itself, and he made an eloquent gesture with his hand.

Duo glared, but he slipped under Zechs’ arm and into the room.

Zechs closed the door and locked it. They shouldn’t be disturbed, but then again, this wasn’t a dilapidated travelodge on a backwater colony. If someone heard two men screaming in agony and ecstasy, they might be tempted to intervene. 

Zechs sat down on his bed, leaning against one solid oak bedpost and letting his gaze lazily sweep over Duo.

“Nice costume.”

He wanted the words to sting, and he could see them hit home, could see the shame color Duo’s cheeks. He had tried, had made an effort to be part of Zechs’ world, and Zechs didn’t understand why and he wanted to punish Duo for the uncertainty, for his earlier self doubt.

Wordlessly, his fingers fumbling in uncharacteristic clumsiness, Duo started to strip.

He unwound the yards of red from his neck, but he left it, long ends hanging down either side of his neck, as he shrugged out of the frock coat. It dropped to the floor, Duo discarding it carelessly. The waistcoat joined it, the full-sleeved linen shirt and simple cotton undershirt next. 

And then Duo was just in the boots, the pure white breeches, and the dangling cravat.

“You don’t belong in those,” Zechs said, indicating the boots. “In any of it. You haven’t earned it.”

Duo’s back stiffened at that, and Zechs could feel the past, the war, thousands of deaths and battlefields stretched between them.

Duo pulled off the boots, managing to make it look effortless, and Zechs wondered if he had had to practice. The breeches were next, then the simple white briefs that Zechs knew were  _ not _ Duo’s. White wasn’t a color Duo ever wore - it showed wear too easily, and besides, it was offensively virginal. At least to Zechs.

Naked, his pale flesh glowing in the fractured, amber light from the chandelier above the bed, Duo stood still and furious.

Zechs looked him over, letting a sneer curl his lips. A new scar, across Duo’s left shoulder, looked like it might have been recent and very nearly deadly. No new tattoos, though. Nothing added to the L2 constellation on his right side or the solar map on his left.

His cock was erect, the tip glistening already, and the shaft an angry red that matched the flush on Duo’s face and chest.

Zechs let his sneer become a smirk, and he gave a short, derisive laugh.

He saw Duo’s body curve, saw him lean closer before he could stop himself, and Zechs met his gaze again.

His favorite moment, the thrill of anticipation, the danger of the unknown.

Duo took one cautious step closer, then another, until he was between Zechs’ legs. He picked up the loose ends of the cravat and put them into Zechs’ hands.

“I want you to tie me up so I can’t get away.”

Zechs laughed, and he saw it cut through Duo’s body, saw him hesitate and think to step back.

But Zechs wrapped his hands around the fabric, looped it around Duo’s neck so that it trapped him fully, and pulled him closer.

“It’s almost pathetic, that you thought you could get away  _ before _ ,” he whispered into Duo’s ear.

“Please,” Duo moaned, his lips wet and red. “Please keep me.”

  
  
  



	16. Chapter 16

A/N: For CeeCee, who requested 2x5 for #8, “Things you said when you were crying.”

 

Warnings: angst, language

Pairings:2x5

  
  


He could have gone to anyone - I thought he  _ would _ have gone to  _ anyone _ else but me. But maybe that was why he chose me, in the end.

Heero, his oldest friend, the one who knew him best and who pushed him to be greater. I wouldn’t have gone to Heero either, wouldn’t have wanted Heero to see me… like this.

Trowa, his closest friend, the one who shared all of his little jokes and who lied smoothly for him when he needed cover. But Trowa was also the one who had ordered this, who had set things in motion, and maybe, maybe he didn’t want yet another thing to blame Trowa for.

Which left lucky, unliked and unnecessary me.

Well, unnecessary until now.

It was late, not late enough for me to have been in bed when he knocked on the door to my apartment, but late enough that I had changed into the silken sleep pants I preferred and had shed my shirt. I had opened the door, unthinkingly, before putting anything on, and the first thing he did was to stare at me, at my scarred torso, the licks of flame and the rough scars of shrapnel.

“If you want a show, go to the strip club three blocks down,” I snapped, and his eyes jerked up to mine, his face flushing dark in anger and embarrassment.

“I wasn’t-”

“What do you want, Maxwell?”

He sighed and fidgeted, shoving his long, dangerous fingers into the pockets of the battered leather jacket he wore. The jacket held my attention. I was fairly certain I had seen Heero wear it, at some point. I hadn’t realized he and Maxwell were involved, hadn’t realized they shared a wardrobe.

I looked at the rest of his clothes, then, and realized that he wasn’t wearing  _ any _ of his own. The boots were Heero’s too, but the dark jeans weren’t something I had seen either of them wear before, and the t-shirt… faded and a little large on him, was Trowa’s. The one he wore when we sparred together.

“Why are you dressed like that?”

He sighed and jerked his head.

“Can I come in, or are you gonna interrogate me in the hallway so that all the civvies get an earful?”

I narrowed my eyes at the rebuke, and stepped aside to allow him in.

I  _ should _ have just slammed the door closed in his face, but I was too curious.

It wasn’t until I closed and bolted the door that the line of tension in his shoulders eased.

“I ship out at 0900,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“Ship out? To where?”

He blinked at me. “Oh. You don’t- shit. I thought you knew.” He gave a huff of laughter and ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck. Well.  _ This _ is awkward. I, I don’t even know if you have the security clearance to know.”

I glared, irritated even more now that I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Maxwell. Spit it out or  _ get _ out.”

He glared at me, then hissed out an annoyed breath.

“I’m going undercover. I drew the short straw on the Spannek mission, and-”

“No.”

He arched an eyebrow at the vehemence in my voice.

“Yeah, I did. Pretty sure there’s security footage of it happening. Une’s already signed off on the orders, and Tro-”

“That’s a fucking suicide mission,” I snapped. I knew. I had helped Trowa compile the intel. Three other Preventers officers had already been sent in, over the last five years, and we had been getting their body parts in the mail ever since.

He shrugged one shoulder, but he didn’t bother to argue with me.

“You can’t,” I continued. “You’re too distinctive. Your face was all over the news vids during the war, and-” And he had grown up, in the ten years since then, and while his eyes still burned with that same fire, his features had grown lean and chiseled. The only thing that still remained of the youthful terrorist, physically, was his braid. 

I suddenly realized why he was here.

“No.”

He rolled his eyes. “Come on. It’s not that big of a deal. I know you do your own hair,” he gestured to me, eyes raking over the undercut I had adopted on the sides, while keeping my hair long on the top.

“Go to a barber.”

“Can’t - they aren’t open this late at night.”

I wondered at that, wondered why it had taken him so long to get this done, but I shouldn’t have to ask. I knew why.

Like me, Maxwell’s hair meant something to him, was a tie to his past and it helped to define him, to ground him.

I sighed. There was no helping it.

“Take off your jacket and shirt - no need to get your hair everywhere.” I knew how fine his hair was, and I knew it was going to cling to everything. I would probably be finding strands of it for the next six months, after this.

He followed my instructions, taking off his jacket and shirt and folding them over the back of the living room couch, and then he followed me into the bathroom.

I laid a towel down on the floor, and put one of the kitchen bar stools on it and gestured for him to sit.

He looked nervous, and he worried at the inner seam of his jeans, just above his right knee.

I looked at him in the mirror, but his eyes were closed and his lips, barely parted, seemed to be forming words.

“What-”

“Just do it,” he snapped, squeezing his eyes shut even tighter.

I sighed and picked up the scissors I had on hand. Kitchen shears, so they were certainly sharp enough, but for this cut to be anything passable, I was going to have to pull out my razor and make it very short.

I took his braid in my hand, wrapping my hand around the weight of it, and swallowed hard.

I was reminded of the last time I had held his hair, four months ago. He’d been drunk and miserable, and I- I had never been able to leave him alone. I’d thought, because of his inebriated state, that the sex would be quick and rough and disappointing, but I had been very wrong. Instead, Maxwell had taken his time, worshipping my body with his mouth and fingers and, finally, his cock, and I had never felt so… important as I had that night, when he whispered into my skin and begged me to tell him it was good, that  _ he _ was good.

It hadn’t been the first time he had shown up, hadn’t been the first time we had fucked, but it had been the most dangerous - the most  _ real, _ and I hated both of us for it. For that night, and for the way he slipped away in the gray of dawn and the way our eyes slid over each other at work, the way we stayed silent.

I cut through the braid, hacking it off, the fine hair thick in its tight confine.

He sucked in a breath when it fell, when his past left him and, instead of sitting up straighter, his shoulders slumped.

“Why me?” I demanded. “Why come to me?”

He didn’t open his eyes, and I could see the streak of tears on his cheeks.

“Because you’ve seen me at my worst, and you still- you still see me.”

-o-

  
  
  



	17. Chapter 17

A/N: For Yesacia, who requested 2x3 for #6: Things you said under the stars.

 

Warnings: angst, language, fluff

 

Pairings: 2X3

  
  


Spring was still fresh and new, still growing away from winter, and the nights were still cold.

But not too cold, not cold enough to keep them indoors when it was the first clear night in weeks, the rain finally letting up and the ground beneath their feet firm, the grass just barely dewed.

They held hands, which was rare enough to still be new, even after four years. Their fingers knit together perfectly, though, and the connection between them felt seamless.

Duo had been the one to insist on bringing a blanket. Trowa had been the one to remind him to put on his jacket.

Together, they spread the blanket in the clearing, on the gentle rise half a mile from the cabin, and Trowa arranged Duo against his side, pushed Duo’s hair out of his face when Duo tucked his head under Trowa’s chin, and he had to smirk when Duo complained about his  _ bony-ass shoulder _ not being a proper pillow.

Duo had been counting down the days until the meteor shower, and Trowa had kept an anxious eye on the weather reports, all too aware that this might become yet another of the thousands of small disappointments that peppered their lives.

But the sky was clear and the starlight bright. 

It was a perfect night.

“Look, there’s the L3 cluster.”

Duo didn’t need to point; they both knew exactly where the colonies were, both knew the star charts well enough to draw them from memory alone.

Trowa could hear the longing in Duo’s voice. Not so much for L3, but for space itself.

He tilted his head and kissed Duo’s crown.

The first race of fiery light across the sky caught them both by surprise, and Duo let out a breathy little laugh, full of wonder and simple, pure joy. The sound wrapped around Trowa’s heart, tight and unforgiving and almost unbearable. 

He shifted, and Duo let out an annoyed  _ umphf _ when his head hit the blanket as Trowa rolled away.

“What are you doing?” Duo asked, clearly displeased at losing his  _ bony-ass shoulder _ of a pillow.

“Getting more comfortable,” Trowa said. He crawled over Duo’s body and pressed his face against Duo’s stomach, waiting for Duo to adjust, to open his legs a little so that the majority of Trowa’s weight wasn’t pinning him down.

“You’ll miss the show,” Duo said, but his hands had already moved, one rubbing over Trowa’s back and the other combing through his hair.

“No, I won’t,” Trowa insisted.

Sure enough, Duo’s fingers tightened and he sucked in a breath, and Trowa knew another meteor had danced across the sky.

“Fuck, it’s so perfect,” Duo sighed, and Trowa closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

Earth and cold and Duo. 

It  _ was  _ perfect.


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: For Yesacia, who requested 1x3 for #12: Things you said when you thought I was asleep.

 

Warnings: angst

Pairings : 1x3

 

Trowa laughed, the sound catching in his throat, as if he still wasn’t used to it, was still unfamiliar with how to make the sound, how to  _ feel _ it, and I pulled him into another kiss.

“Stop,” he pushed me away, one palm on my chest. “You’ll get wet.”

I worked around his objection by removing my shirt, my trousers and my boxers, until I stood in front of him naked. I arched an eyebrow in challenge, and he rolled his eyes and took a step back, allowing me into the shower with him.

I kissed him again, and this time he didn’t pull away, didn’t seem to care that soap was dripping from his hair onto his nose and between our lips, and I didn’t care much either.

It had been too long. Too long since I had come home to find him there.

But it didn’t matter. Stepping into his arms, joining my body with his, felt as natural and effortless as it ever had.

We stayed in the shower too long, until the water turned frigid and we were scrambling to get out, and he was laughing again as he dried me off, and he made my already unruly hair even worse.

The light was better, out here, and my eyes traced over all of the cuts my fingers had felt in the shower.

None too deep, none too close to anything vital. Though the bruising on his hips made me arch an eyebrow. He hadn’t complained, before, in the shower, when I had gripped him tightly and buried myself in his heat.

He shrugged one careless shoulder.

“I missed you.” An excuse and an apology.

I knelt down and kissed at the bruises, caressed them with my tongue until he was moaning, low and nearly silent.

“Please,” he begged, and nudged my head in a different direction.

I took my time, bracing his knees when he shuddered and needed the extra support, and I swallowed his pleasure while he held me tightly, fingers digging into my scalp.

After, he curled around me on our bed, one leg between mine and one arm around my waist, fingers clutching at the sheets in front of me, as if he needed to make sure I wouldn’t move without alerting him.

Ironic, considering that he was the one who so often slipped away in the dead of night without a word.

“I love you.”

It was a whisper, a teasing puff of hot air against the back of my neck, hours after we had turned off the lights, and I was sure he thought I was asleep. 

He didn’t expect a response, was still, even now, convinced there would be none. 

I moved my hand across the sheets and took his in my grasp. I brought our joined hands to my lips and pressed a kiss against his knuckles.

His body eased, his lips, pressed against my neck, curved into a smile.

 


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: For Crown of Winterthorne, who requested 2x3 for #27, “Oh, fuck yes. Bite me again.”

 

Warnings: language, sex, religious things (do I need to warn for that?)

Pairings: 2x3

  
  


It was their fourth date, if you counted meeting on the dance floor and trading blowjobs as a date - as their first date - and Trowa very much did.

The second date had been tamer, had been dinner and a movie, and had been thoroughly PG until Duo hauled Trowa into the backseat of his car and gave him a rim job that left Trowa praying to  _ God _ not to let him fuck this up and lose such a generous lover.

The third had been lunch, on a Sunday after  _ church _ , after  _ church service, _ and Duo had been recognized by some young, golden happy family at the table beside theirs, had been called  _ Father Maxwell, _ and Trowa’s entire world had come to a screeching halt.

Duo had looked guilty, had bit his lip and met Trowa’s furious stare and said that they should talk, later,  _ away _ from his parishioners, and Trowa had been vicious in his hurt and anger, and asked in a quiet voice if Duo was worried his congregation might not appreciate their pastor  _ ministering _ to Trowa on his knees in a bathroom stall, and he had left, the sight of Duo’s wide eyes and gaping mouth his last of the other man.

A week of silence, of Trowa pulling up Duo’s contact on his phone and thumbing over to  _ delete _ and then hesitating, putting the phone away again and forcing himself to stop thinking about it. +About him. A week of Trowa thinking about Duo in the shower, of fingering himself and desperately wishing it was Duo’s tongue or his cock. A week of dreaming about his wicked smile. A week of wondering  _ how the fuck _ that man was a preacher - or a minister - or- or whatever the fuck he was.

Until Duo called. He didn’t text, which Trowa thought was both a dick move and smart. Trowa could ignore a text, but he answered the call reflexively - he was an ER nurse, after all. He always answered his phone without even looking at the caller ID.

He wanted to talk, wanted to explain, and he- he missed Trowa. Hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him, and he was an idiot and he had fucked things up, and would Trowa- could they just talk?

So here Trowa was, parking his car in the driveway of a small house beside the small, Episcopal church that, after a depressingly-fast Google search, Trowa had learned was Duo’s. The rectory. He thought that was what it was called. Maybe it was a parsonage? 

Trowa didn’t know much about religion. His own parents had been devout atheists, and Trowa had never had an interest in going against what seemed to him to be a perfectly logical and scientific way to view the world.

Wikipedia had been helpful, but a little vague.

Trowa walked up to the front door and knocked. Duo opened it a moment later, his smile a little tremulous, tension in his shoulders and face.

He looked so casual, so incredibly fuckable in his black sweater and jeans and- floral apron?

Trowa arched an eyebrow, and Duo laughed.

“I, ah, I thought I would cook. I just got the chicken in the oven, so we have… some time, before I have to do anything.”

Time to talk, then.

Trowa followed Duo into the house, relieved not to see crucifixes or paintings of Jesus all over the place. He didn’t know if that was even a thing for Duo’s type of Christian. He should have read the Wikipedia page more closely.

In fact, the house seemed remarkably bare, the furniture unexceptional, and only an Ansel Adams photograph over the mantle served as decoration. 

Duo undid his apron and held it in his hands, twisting it.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked.

There had been drinks, that first night. Vodka. Trowa wondered, suddenly, if that was allowed.

“Do you drink?” he asked Duo.

Duo stared at him, brows drawn together in a frown, and then he laughed.

“Oh, you think, because of- No, no, of course I drink. I mean, I’m not an alcoholic or anything, but- I’ve got some white wine in the fridge, or beer?” He paused and offered Trowa a mischievous little smirk. “And there’s some vodka in the freezer, if you needed something harder.”

Trowa swallowed, remembering Duo’s cock that night, which had been plenty hard, and wondered if the innuendo was intentional.

“Wine,” Trowa managed to say.

Duo nodded, and gestured to the couch before walking away, disappearing into the kitchen.

Trowa sat on one far side of the couch, hating how comfortable the cushions were and how tempted he was to lean back and relax.

“Here you go.” Duo was back, putting a glass in his hand and sitting down on the other end, giving Trowa plenty of space.

“You wanted to talk,” Trowa prompted Duo when the other man just sat, silent and watchful. “Talk.”

Duo’s lips twitched, but he nodded and, after a sip of wine, he started to.

“You’re freaked out, I’m guessing, by my work.”

“You say that like it’s just a job - like it’s not  _ who you are _ .”

Duo arched an eyebrow at him and leaned back, sinking into the cushions and looking comfortable and sexy, and Trowa looked away and took a too-large sip of his wine.

“Well, what about your job? You’re an ER nurse. You save lives, you change the world - are you telling me that’s just for what - ten, twelve hours? And then you turn it off and don’t give a fuck about humanity?”

Trowa flinched at the word coming from Duo’s mouth.  _ Fuck _ . There was something incredibly dirty about it, and Trowa shivered. But also-

“It’s not the same,” he insisted.

“No? So if you saw someone hurt in the park or by the side of the road, you wouldn’t stop to help them?”

“Of course I would. That’s- that has nothing to do with my job.”

“I know. It’s just  _ who you are _ .”

Trowa did not appreciate having his own words thrown back at him.

“Everything we did - fucking in the club, in your car - all of that is okay with God, or whatever?”

Duo’s eyes sparkled as he took another sip of his wine.

“Yeah, I think The Dude is okay with me fucking you.”

“Did you-  _ The Dude _ ?” And now Trowa had the inescapable mental image of Jeff Bridges with a halo around his head.

“‘S what I call him when we talk,” Duo shrugged.

Trowa shook his head. This was too- It was too much. Too strange.

“Look, I get it, Trowa. You’re very rational, very logical. You analyze things, and you take them apart and figure out how to put them back together and how to fix them, right?”

Trowa nodded.

“And you think religion - God and belief and faith - you think it’s the antithesis of all that, don’t you?”

Trowa had to nod again.

“In some ways, it is,” Duo agreed. “But in some ways, it’s not. Rationality -  _ reason _ \- is at the very core of my belief, Trowa. God is everywhere. He’s in the smallest cell of a bacterium of the ocean and the largest supernova, and everything in between. He’s in all of our feelings, our memories. He’s the difference between nothing and everything, and  _ believing _ in him allows me to understand, to accept all of the things that logic can’t define.”

Trowa swallowed hard, and he looked away from Duo’s earnest gaze. 

“I see death, every day,” Trowa said, his voice rough and raw, more vulnerable than he wanted it to be. “Is your God in that too?”

“Yeah,” Duo said, his simple answer taking Trowa by surprise. “He is. He’s in all of the wonderful things that happen, and all of the terrible, unspeakable things, too. He doesn’t  _ cause _ them, but He stands beside us while we endure.”

“So you think God just…  _ lets _ us do these things to each other? God just  _ lets _ us kill children, but it’s okay, because he’s standing beside the grief-stricken mother whose life will never be the same?”

“No, it’s not okay.” Duo shifted, moving closer, and Trowa could see the concern in his eyes, the sympathy. “It’s never okay. But- but look. If we lived purely by science, by logic, then we would turn our backs on those in need, wouldn’t we? To better preserve the strength and prosperity of the rest of humanity? Tell me, Trowa, what logic is there in spending millions of dollars and countless hours of research on drugs that are palliative, that seek to ease the pain of someone dying from an incurable disease? Isn’t it more logical to simply end their suffering, immediately? To use those resources to make life better for people who have a chance?”

Trowa cringed at the very notion. He shook his head. “No. No, that’s- that’s cruel and barbaric.”

Duo smiled softly and nodded. “Do you know what the Great Commandment is?”

Trowa shook his head.

“What about the Golden Rule?”

“Treat others the way you want to be treated?”

“Yeah. Well, the heart of my faith - the heart of my religion, is the Great Commandment, from Matthew. Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. And, the second part, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.”

Trowa frowned.

“It’s- do you know Kierkegaard?”

“The existentialist?”

Duo nodded and smiled slightly, clearly pleased.

“Yeah. So he had this whole thing - we needed to love our neighbors as ourselves, but what if you don’t like yourself very much? Does that mean you should be shit towards humanity? No, of course not. So, the thing is, God has commanded you to  _ love _ and, if you truly love him, if you truly believe, then you love all of humanity - including yourself - through him.”

Trowa wasn’t sure he understood, not entirely. But, at the very least, it didn’t sound…  _ too _ crazy.

“I still- I’m having a hard time reconciling this with what we’ve done - with the guy I met in the club, or the guy who had his tongue buried in my ass.”

Duo grinned, the expression easy and his eyes warm, and Trowa knew he was thinking back, was remembering those nights and growing aroused. Trowa swallowed hard and tried not to let himself give in to the same desire.

“Two things,” Duo said, and held up two fingers on his right hand. “One, I’m a priest, not a saint. I  _ like _ sex, and The Dude knows that and we’re cool with it, which I already said. And two, God commanded me to love, didn’t he?” The last was said with a wink, and Trowa didn’t know if he had ever heard such an  _ awful _ line before.

“Did you really just-” Trowa shook his head. “That was incredibly lame.”

Duo chuckled. “I know, I know. It’s just… it’s hard to be smooth in the face of all you’ve got going on,” Duo waved an arm in Trowa’s direction.

Trowa arched an eyebrow at that, and Duo rolled his eyes.

“Oh, come on. You know how unbelievably sexy you are. Even just sitting there and wondering if I’m going to whip out a Bible and try to convert you, you’re hot.”

“Are you? Going to try to convert me?”

Duo scoffed. “There are a  _ lot _ of things I want to try with you, Trowa, but I’m no evangelical. I’d be happy to talk to you more about God, but if you aren’t interested, I’m not going to make it an issue.”

“That’s okay? For you to be dating an atheist? For you to marry one?”

Duo grinned, and Trowa realized how that had sounded.

“Jumping the gun a bit, aren’t you?” Duo asked him, and Trowa rolled his eyes.

A timer sounded from the kitchen, and Duo got to his feet. 

He walked around the couch, passing by Trowa and leaning down to tilt his face up with one finger.

“And yeah, it’s okay for me to be dating an atheist. By the time we get married, maybe I can nudge you towards being an agnostic, but if not, it’ll make my meetings with the General Convention more interesting.”

Trowa had no idea what that was, but he didn’t much care, especially when Duo leaned down and kissed him, his mouth teasingly soft.

Trowa arched up, chasing after Duo as he pulled away and stood back up.

Duo grinned down at him.

“I need to go and put in the potatoes,” he said as he stepped back. “You can join me in the kitchen or,” he gestured towards the bare house, “you can wander around.”

Trowa decided he very much wanted to join Duo.

He picked up his wine glass, and Duo’s, and followed him into the kitchen.

Duo put the floral apron back on, and Trowa wondered if there was a story there.

Trowa held out Duo’s wine glass and he took it back, sipped from it and then set it to one side while he started to peel a few potatoes. Too many, really, for just the two of them to be eating.

“Are you expecting more company?” Trowa had to ask.

Duo shook his head. “Not tonight - although I do have parishioners over for dinner sometimes. More often, I’m out, though, having dinner with them. Tonight - Tuesday nights - those are just mine, though. Ours,” he added, with a hopeful look up at Trowa.

Trowa met his gaze, and allowed himself a small, hopeful smile in response.

Duo grinned and turned away. “But I’m also making enough for leftovers - got a meeting with a kid tomorrow afternoon and he never has enough to eat, so…”

Duo shrugged, as if it wasn’t anything. As if it meant nothing.

Trowa swallowed hard, and had to wonder again how this was possible. Before, he had been a little awed by Duo’s attentiveness, by the amazing head he gave and then, on their next date, by the incredibly thorough rim job and Duo’s determination to leave Trowa completely sated and boneless.

He was  _ good _ , Trowa couldn’t help but think - not just good  _ at _ sex, but a good person. And maybe that was the difference. 

It was intimidating as hell, and Trowa wasn’t sure he measured up. He knew himself - knew he was selfish and could be petty, could be cruel, and- well, Duo knew that now, too, after their disastrous lunch.

Duo set the potatoes aside, and peeled and diced several large carrots.

Trowa stepped back as Duo reached behind him for olive oil and spread some into a frying pan before heating it on the stovetop.

Trowa moved to the other side of the kitchen, giving Duo room as he browned the carrots and potatoes. 

He watched as Duo pulled a large, cast iron dutch oven from the heated oven and removed the lid.

It smelled amazing, whatever was already inside, and Duo dumped the vegetables in with it before replacing the lid and then the entire pot into the oven.

He set a timer, and then moved over to rinse off the pan, knives and cutting board.

“Smells good,” Trowa said, moving over with him, leaning against the counter beside Duo and picking up a towel to dry the dishes off.

Duo looked grateful.

“Thanks. It’s roast chicken - Julia Child style, they way my mom used to make it.”

“Used to?” Trowa asked.

Duo shrugged one shoulder.

“She died, when I was ten. Her and my dad.”

Trowa was reminded of last month, when a drunk driver had hit a family of four head-on, killing the mother and father on impact, and leaving two teenagers orphans. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Took me a  _ hell _ of a long time to stop blaming The Dude for it, though,” Duo admitted with a weak laugh.

Trowa nodded. He could imagine.

Duo’s shoulders were tense again, and he probably thought he had said too much.

Trowa leaned over and kissed the side of Duo’s neck, on the sensitive spot he had discovered that first night at the club, and Duo shivered under him.

“Mm.”

Trowa licked at the spot and then, wondering how Duo would react, he bit down.

“Oh fuck, yes. Bite me again.”

It was part plea, part command, and Trowa reached past Duo to turn off the running water before he pulled Duo close and tilted his head back so that he had better access.

Trowa found his pulse point again and bit down, harder this time, and Duo’s fingers curled into his back.

“Fuck. Fuck,  _ yes _ .”

It still felt wrong, still felt indescribably dirty to hear Duo say  _ fuck _ now that Trowa knew he was a priest, but it also felt very, very good.

He moved to the other side of Duo’s neck, laving at the same spot before biting down, leaving a matching set of indentations.

Duo strained under him, moaning in pleasure, and it felt like that first night all over again. All thought and logic drowned by a wash of lust so strong it took Trowa’s breath away.

He cast an eye towards the timer on the oven.  _ Forty-five minutes _ . Good. That was plenty of time.

Even if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t mind skipping dinner and feasting on Duo instead.

“I think I want a tour,” he informed Duo, pulling back and looking down at him.

“What?” Duo’s eyes were hooded and dark, and he seemed to be having a hard time focusing.

“Of your house. Give me a tour.”

“Oh. Uh. Sure.”

Duo took off his apron, tossing it onto the counter, and then he led the way out of the kitchen.

“You’ve seen the living room,” he gestured. “Bathroom’s down here, and a guest room.” They were as characterless as the living room.

“Your room?” Trowa asked.

“Upstairs.” Duo hesitated, then saw the look in Trowa’s eyes and finally caught on. “Let me show you.”

 

-o-

 


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: For Chemical Crush, who wanted something fluffy with 1x2 or 1x2x3

 

Warnings: language

Pairings, 1x2, 1x2x3

  
  


This wasn’t how things should have turned out.

It wasn’t how things were  _ supposed _ to be.

Child soldiers didn’t get happily ever afters. They didn’t get parades and medals and the chance to start over.

They got sham trials and long prison sentences, and they got shipped off to Mars to rot while the new world they had paid for with their blood and innocence thrived and forgot about them.

_ That’s _ how things were supposed to be. How they should have turned out.

But they didn’t.

Remarkably. Inexplicably, there were no trials. No sentences. No hard labor on Mars. 

Inexplicable, until you realized that Quatre Winner was the sole heir to the largest fortune in the Earthsphere, and that  _ no one _ would forget Terran authorities shipping his perfect blond ass off to Mars.

So, here we were, getting our medals. Getting our parade. Getting scholarships for college. Getting stipends. Walking free.

It felt like cheating, and for Duo, he spent the next four years looking over his shoulder constantly, expecting to see ESUN officers headed his way any second to bring his ass in. But it never happened.

He went to college. He grew up. He met a guy and fell in love, got his heart broken. Met another guy - and after him, a girl. 

And by the time Duo saw the others again, at Quatre and Relena’s wedding seven years after the war, he had a PhD in mechanical engineering and a job lined up in the L5 sector and a haircut.

It wasn’t much - wasn’t as dramatic as Wufei shaving his, but you’d never guess that by the way they looked at him - Quatre’s eyes wide and Wufei’s narrowed. They acted like he had hacked off a limb instead of trimming a foot off his braid.

His hair was still long, still had to be tied back in a ponytail or a braid, but it didn’t weigh him down. He’d learned to let go, to move on, and while he wanted the reminder of his past, he didn’t need to hold it with both hands anymore.

He was more interested in the future.

It was Trowa who said it looked good, said it suited Duo.

But it was Heero who went home with Duo. Heero who, after fumbling with Duo’s vest until Duo was laughing and Heero joined in, stayed the night and told Duo what he had been doing for the last seven years. Heero who showed up, unannounced and completely unexpected a week later to help Duo pack up his small apartment in New York City because Duo mentioned something offhand that night. Heero who, six months later, told Duo that visiting him every two or three weeks wasn’t enough, and that he wanted to move to L5, wanted to move in - if Duo wanted him.

It was another two years before Duo finally gave in and they agreed to go to Quatre’s birthday. Before they saw Trowa again.

He’d grown a goatee, and Duo had had to do a double-take and then had felt silly, had felt like an idiot for thinking how handsome it made him.

Wufei had married, last year, in a quiet, private ceremony, and his husband was an academic, their age, and so he hadn’t fought in the war. After a while, Duo, Heero and Trowa realized that the other two couples had more in common - expecting their first children, politics - and had escaped to a terraced garden that said more about Quatre’s wealth than the dozens of servants in his mansion.

They sat on the grass, and Duo leaned against Heero’s shoulder while his fingers just barely touched Trowa’s.

Trowa was lonely, had dated a few men, but - they didn’t understand. Didn’t wake up in the middle of the night fighting off demons. He looked over at Duo, at Heero.

Duo nodded, whispered that some nights it was still bad, some nights he had to sleep in the tub with the lights on because the mattress was too soft.

It was Duo who invited Trowa to come visit, sometime soon.

But it was Heero who invited Trowa into their bed, who kissed away Trowa’s objections and promised that he was wanted. Was needed.

They weren’t supposed to get a happily ever after, but they did.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: For Cylina Nightshade, who requested #4, “You know I love you, right? I have every intention of fucking you like I don’t.” I decided to go with 1x2x5

 

Warnings: angst, language, sex

Pairings: 1x2x5

  
  


I expected anger. Expected rage and the dark, deadly calm I associated with Shinigami out for vengeance

I was wrong.

Duo was silent, his jaw locked and his lips compressed so tightly they disappeared. But he wasn’t calm. His entire body seemed to be vibrating, only just held in check.

I wondered why it was Trowa who told him, wondered who had thought  _ that _ was a good idea.

“Howard’s shuttle was ferrying cargo from a debris site back to M234 when a micro-meteorite punctured the hull.”

No crew, no remains had been found. Of course. A vacuum breach meant they would have been sucked out into the cold of space, probably through a hole no larger than a hand. It wasn’t something Trowa needed to say. Duo could picture it clearly.

“It was quick. He wasn’t-”

Duo punched him, the blow staggering Trowa back a few steps, but he didn’t go down, just wiped at the blood on his lips and stared back at Duo.

Now I knew why Trowa had been the one to tell him.

Duo threw himself on the bigger man, tackling him and lashing out with his fists and feet, Trowa blocking what he could but making no effort to fight back.

I stared, horrified and transfixed, for too long before I shook myself.

“Maxwell!”

He turned at the sound of my voice, at my disgust. His face twisted into an ugly, angry scowl, and he pushed away from Trowa’s prone form, walked past me, past all of the onlookers, and left the building.

Security arrived, too late, with Une at their heels demanding to know what had happened.

“Duo and I were demonstrating a hand-to-hand combat maneuver for the new guy,” Trowa said, nodding vaguely at the press of onlookers.

Une sneered at the weak excuse. I wondered how many times she had heard it before - dozens, at least from Trowa or Duo. Though, before, neither had looked like he had just barely survived a round of brass knuckle boxing.

She turned on me.

“Two weeks paid leave - and then he reports to my office,” she informed me.

I nodded. I was sure she would have done that anyway, after the news about Hilde.

She left, and I walked Trowa down to the med bay.

“You shouldn’t have said-”

“Yeah, I should have,” he cut me off, grimacing as he raided the first-aid kit. “Unless you wanted him to attack you or Heero?” He arched an eyebrow in my direction, and then winced as blood trickled into his eye.

It was a fair point, and I hated that he was right.

I didn’t want to be the one Duo did that to, and I didn’t want to watch him pummel Heero either.

“Thank you,” I said. 

He shrugged, as if it was nothing, as if he probably wasn’t going to have to get stitches for the cut on his cheek, at the very least. I felt a tug of guilt. I was fairly certain the cuts were as deep as they were because of Duo’s ring.

“You should probably go find him, before he does something stupid,” Trowa suggested.

I raised my eyebrows.

“Something  _ else _ stupid,” he amended, as he finally found the bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

I left him alone and went to find Duo.

I tried calling, on my way to the garage to collect my motorcycle, and I wasn’t the least surprised that it went straight to voicemail. 

Sighing, I dialed Heero’s number. He might have already heard - I was constantly amazed by how fast gossip spread at the Preventers HQ - but if he hadn’t, he needed to know.

The call cut off, abruptly, and a second later my phone buzzed with a text.

**_In a meeting_ ** .

I sighed and thought about the best way to word this. Bluntly, I decided.

**_Howard dead. Duo in bad shape_ ** .

I was on my bike, about to put on my helmet, when I got his response.

**_Keep me posted. Out of here in thirty._ **

I was a little irritated, but I knew that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t as if the world stopped just because we needed it to. 

I decided to try home first, on the slim chance he had gone there instead of one of the dive bars he liked to lose himself at.

Ten minutes later, I saw his car parked in our driveway.

I pulled up to the side, irritated at being wrong so many times today, and stowed my helmet and gloves.

It felt silly to approach my own home with trepidation, but having just watched Duo beat Trowa, one of his closest friends, into a pulp, didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

“Duo?”

The house was empty, the lights off, and I felt uneasy as I moved through the dark hallways.

“Duo?”

He was in the basement, in the small work area he had carved out for himself so that he could tinker with mechanical things, sitting on the rolling stool in front of his work table, and his head was pillowed on his arms, his shoulders shaking.

I walked over and hesitated, an arm’s length away from him.

“Duo.”

He stilled, his back shuddering as he drew in a deep breath, and then he lifted his head to look at me.

I’d never seen him cry before. After all that we had been through - after nearly dying together - I had never seen him cry.

I felt frozen in place, my natural inclination to  _ leave _ , to walk away and pretend I had never seen him like this, warred with my need to touch him, to be the partner I had committed myself to becoming.

When I finally reached out, it was too late, the moment had passed, and he batted my hand away angrily.

I felt my eyes narrow in irritation. I did not like being dismissed, and maybe he didn’t really care about that at the moment, but  _ I _ did. 

I reached out again, grabbing his shoulder and turning him to fully face me, and he shoved me back, rising from the stool and advancing on me until he had backed me against the tool chest on the opposite wall.

“Walk away,” he warned, his eyes dangerous despite the swollen skin surrounding them, the smear of tears on his cheeks.

“No.”

He lunged at the same time that I did, and we grappled, fighting for purchase, and I regretted ever becoming his sparring partner. 

I managed to shove him backwards, and he tripped on the stool, nearly lost his balance, but then he managed to catch himself and he charged me, forced me against the work table in the center of the room, and he shoved my head down, hard, and I could feel a hex nut under my cheek.

I didn’t know what to expect next - violence wasn’t something we engaged in, not outside of training sessions, not outside of work.

But this… I knew, intellectually, that Duo would sooner cut off his own hand than strike me. But that didn’t stop the thread of fear, of tension, that coiled deep in my belly.

He had me pinned, his hips holding me against the table, and his elbow across my spine keeping me bent over.

“Wufei.”

His voice was rough, with tears and emotion, and I twisted my head around to look at him.

“You know I love you, right? I have every intention of fucking you like I don’t.”

He held my eyes, let me see the darkness in his own, the complete despair.

“Tell me to stop.”

Instead, I stretched my arms out to grip the table, to brace myself.

His lips curled and he stepped back, giving me the chance to move even though I had made my decision clear.

He jerked my trousers down, not bothering to unfasten them, and I winced as the fabric made a ripping sound. The quartermaster wasn’t going to be too happy with my request for another pair.

Duo gripped my ass, his fingers bruising in their strength, and he spit on me, a warm, wet glob of saliva sliding down the crack of my ass until he stopped its progress with his fingers.

He was rough, perfunctory, so very different from the Duo who had shared my bed for four years.

I was barely stretched when he shoved into me, and I winced but kept silent as he buried himself deep, his cock filling me in a single, impossible thrust of his hips that left up both breathless.

“I hurt you.”

His voice was empty, broken, and that sound hurt me far more than any physical discomfort I felt.

“I’m fine,” I bit out. It wasn’t even a lie. Even when Duo was gentle, as he so often was, his cock was large enough that, unless he was being  _ very _ careful, I ended up sore. 

He started to pull out, but I shoved my ass backwards, impaling myself on him again, and I clenched my cheeks together, holding him in place while he groaned.

“Wufei. I-”

“I know you love me,” I insisted, fucking myself on his motionless cock. “I know you do. Now fuck me like you need to.”

I didn’t curse often, and I knew that Duo loved hearing me say  _ fuck _ in particular. 

“Do it!” I bellowed when he refused to move. 

My tone, the sudden volume, spurred him to action, and he gripped my hips in that same punishing hold again.

“You’re so fucking bossy,” he grunted, and I wondered how genuine his resentment was - how much of it was tied to this moment, this feeling, and how much of it was always there.

“Someone has to tell you what to do,” I shot back.

“Fuck you,” he snarled. The table screeched, shifted an inch on the concrete floor under the impact of Duo’s thrusts into my body.

“I thought that’s what you were trying to do.”

He growled, the sound raw and primal, and one of his hands moved up to my neck, took hold of my hair and wrenched my head back at an uncomfortable angle.

“Duo.”

We turned, Duo releasing his hold on my head, and saw Heero framed in the entrance to the room.

He was scowling, his eyes flickering between us, assessing the situation.

I felt the fingers of Duo’s other hand, still holding me, spasm. And I knew he was on the verge of losing it, of breaking down entirely, and that was not something I could cope with. 

“Will you tell him to just get on with it?” I hissed between my clenched teeth.

Heero arched an eyebrow in question.

“Maybe he needs some assistance,” Heero decided, and pulled off his belt in a smooth gesture.

He approached the work bench, took my hands and wrapped the belt around them, pulling it through the latch when the leather was tight enough to dig into my skin.

“That’s good,” Duo breathed, and he sounded relieved.

Heero nodded.

“What else?” he asked.

“He keeps talking- keeps-”

“I think we all know the best way to shut Wufei up,” Heero interrupted when Duo’s voice faltered.

He shed his trousers and briefs before stepping close again. He reached out, grabbed my shoulders and hauled me further onto the table, until my cock was painfully trapped and I could no longer touch the floor with my toes.

My face, however, was just in front of Heero’s groin, perfectly positioned to take his cock into my mouth and, without any urging, I did so.

He was soft, and I had to work to arouse him.

“Keep fucking him,” Heero ordered Duo, and I couldn’t help the small, belligerent voice in the back of my head that noted that  _ Heero _ got to tell Duo what to do without Duo turning on him.

Duo moved again, and I could feel that he had gone a little soft, though with his cock it didn’t matter - he still filled my rectum, still managed to leave me mewling like a pathetic, cock-hungry toy.

“Harder,” Heero said, his voice idle, and he shifted, pushed his now-hard cock down my throat, and I gagged.

Heero ran his hands over my jaw, his thumb caressing my cheek in a silent apology.

But then Duo was fucking me in earnest, his flesh pounding into mine, and the momentum carried me forward, onto Heero’s cock, and I was speared from both ends.

All I could do was focus on breathing, on keeping my body relaxed, while the two men used me.

“Harder,” Heero said again, his voice merciless, and Duo followed the command, snapping his hips, rolling inside me, and I groaned. It felt good, felt  _ so _ damn good, and I hated how much I was enjoying this, despite everything.

It wasn’t like this, ever. Usually, Duo was between us, fucking me while Heero fucked him, or, occasionally, Heero would fuck him while he sucked me off. It was rare that Heero and I were connected, like this. Heero had only fucked me a few times, when Duo had been away, and as good as it had been, there was too much anger, too much between us, for it to be anything but a stone’s throw away from violence.

It made sense, of course, that this was happening under Heero’s direction, that he was channeling Duo’s rage and guiding him. 

“Harder,” Heero said again, and I wasn’t sure there  _ was _ a harder - and if there was, I didn’t think I could handle it.

Duo made a frustrated sound, a cry of rage and something that sounded like agony, and he came, spilling himself deep inside of me, and then he held himself still.

“Duo.”

They were looking at each other, above me, and I could see from Heero’s tense expression that Duo was  _ not _ okay.

I used my bound hands to push Heero away, his cock falling from my mouth and trailing saliva, and then I gestured impatiently for Heero to release me.

He loosened the belt, but didn’t remove it. Instead, he was moving around the table.

Duo stepped back, pulled out, and I felt a wet trail of come dribble down my thigh.

I struggled with the belt, but it wasn’t until I heard Duo draw in a choking, sobbing breath that I turned to see Heero holding him.

They slid to the floor, Duo in Heero’s lap, his fingers clutching Heero’s dress shirt like it was an EVA tether, and I finally threw off the belt.

And then I stood there, useless and unnecessary, starting down at Heero as he offered Duo the comfort that I hadn’t been able to.

Heero looked up at me, hesitated a moment, and then held up his right hand.

I took it, and he pulled me down beside them. Awkwardly, I wrapped my arms around Duo, folding him between our bodies, and his sobs rocked through all of us.

 

-o-

  
  



	22. Chapter 22

A/N: For Maevemauvaise, who requesed #12: I want to make you bleed, with 2x5

 

Warnings: edgeplay/knifeplay/bloodplay, so blood, violence, bondage, language, sex

Pairings: 2x5

 

He’d been practising, at least with his knots.

Thinking back, to just a few weeks ago, I remembered the loose hitches he had used to secure me to the bench he used for weightlifting.

Oh, how the times had changed.

I thought it was interesting, considering how obsessed Wufei was with his  _ own _ culture, that he had fallen in love with shibari bondage. Interesting, but I couldn’t complain.

Not after he finally figured out how to tie a proper knot. Not after he figured out that I didn’t  _ want _ to feel like it would be easy to get out.

It had started, like most things between us, with a bet and me pushing too far - waiting to see just what would send him over the edge.

Turns out, telling Chang he was too much of a coward to ever give me a proper fuck was the  _ exact _ motivation needed to get him to bend me over his desk and prove just how wrong I was.

For a while, that’s all it was. Rough sex, angry sex, all of our frustrations with work, with humanity - with each other - poured into marathon sessions that left  _ both _ of us sore, though usually I was the only one limping.

But then he brought home a blindfold.

Then handcuffs.

Then an ice tray.

And then the rope.

“Whaddya call this one?” I asked, drawing in an experimental, forcefully-shallow breath.

“Haze Harness.” His eyebrows were drawn together, his eyes narrowed in concentration, and as much as I wanted to tease him about that - about how focused he was on perfecting this - I knew it would ruin the moment. I could tease him later.

“What about my hands?” I waved them, and then choked on a cough as he tightened the ropes around my groin.

He smirked and looked down at his handiwork. The rope, which had left my cock free and skirted either side of my scrotum, went right between the cheeks of my ass. 

So he wouldn’t be fucking me, tied up like this. That was disappointing, but not unexpected. A lot of the times, especially the more involved these little sessions became, Chang focused purely on  _ my _ pain and pleasure, and it wasn’t until after, when we’d bathed or I’d at least had the chance to return to my right state of mind, that he did something about his own cock.

“I’m leaving them free,” he decided, and I frowned, annoyed at that.

In my mind, the shibari was a waste of time - it took three times as long to get in and out of the knots - but Wufei liked it. Liked the way the rope pinched into my pale flesh, had even gone so far as to start dying his own jute. And that was fine. It was. Especially when he looked at me like I was a work of art.

But my needs were simple. Make me feel wanted. Make me feel completely and utterly at your mercy, and I was a happy camper. I didn’t need all of the bells and whistles.

So this - tying up my torso and making me ride a rope up the ass, but leaving my hands and feet totally free - didn’t meet all of my extremely minimal requirements.

“Why?” There had to be a reason.

He offered me a soft smile, part question, part promise, and I felt my tongue grow heavy in my mouth. 

I loved that smile. Feared that smile.

He rose to his feet, leaving me alone in our bed, and walked out of the room.

When he returned, he was carrying a length of black cloth - the blindfold he preferred to use on me - and a slim, black leather case. He set both down beside me on the bed.

Without being asked, I lifted my head so that he could tie the blindfold on.

I was rewarded with a smile, with a painful pinch of my left nipple, and I moaned and arched up into his touch.

Now that I had darkness wrapped around me, I had to rely on touch and hearing alone, and it heightened everything.

He had tried earplugs, once, but that had been a  _ hard _ no for me. It reminded me too much, way too much, of laying in a cell on the moon and waiting to die, straining to hear the sound of Chang breathing, of the air slowly leaking from the room. I’d had a full freak-out, even after he’d gotten me untied and pulled me close, my body shaking and tears leaking from my eyes in shame as much as fear.

There was a whisper of motion, the sheets moving and Chang’s weight settling over me. He was sitting on my thighs, trapping my legs at least.

“Hands above your head,” he instructed. He did that sometimes - insisted on binding me with nothing but his words - and it always frustrated the living hell out of me. But when I managed to do it, managed to hold the position while he had his way with me, I was always well rewarded.

Another heartbeat, the sound of something - that leather box - opening.

And then something cold and hard and  _ sharp _ against my neck.

I stopped breathing. I stopped  _ thinking _ .

“Do you trust me?”

Chang’s voice, dark and taunting and close, the words a kiss upon my lips.

I forced myself to breathe, even more shallow than the restricting ropes allowed. I was terrified of that blade. A scalpel, it felt like.

“Do you trust me?” he repeated.

My first instinct was to nod, but I just barely managed to check myself.

“Yes,” I whispered, and it sounded like a lie.

“Duo.”

“I do,” I insisted, a little louder, a little stronger.

I  _ did _ trust him. What I didn’t trust was myself - to hold still - to not end up impaling myself. He should have tied my hands. Hell, he should have strapped me down so tightly that I couldn’t breathe at  _ all _ .

And I realized, in that moment, why he hadn’t.

Not just so I could stop him, if I needed to. But because it was a  _ hell _ of a lot scarier this way - when I could so easily fuck this up. When I wasn’t  _ just _ at his mercy, but at my own as well.

“I want to make you bleed.”

I whimpered, the sound a mix of fear and desire, and I licked my lips.

“Please,” I begged. 

He’d left marks on me before, bites and bruises from whips, from ropes tied too tight. Trowa, who usually worked the same shift as me, had raised his eyebrows a few times, but after the first time - after the handprint around my throat, and the rage he’d flown into until I explained that I  _ wanted _ it - he didn’t ask questions. Maybe he understood, maybe he didn’t. But he kept quiet about it.

Then again, it was Trowa.

He kept quiet about everything.

“Please?” he echoed, teasing me. Running the scalpel down my throat until he encountered the rope.

I could feel it, not cutting, not really, just edging through the top layer of my skin, but not even deep enough to leave a trace, I was sure.

“Please,” I repeated, and Chang laughed.

He lifted the blade, and I held my breath and waited for him to begin.

 

-o-

  
  



	23. Chapter 23

A/N: For Cylina Nightshade, who requested #3, “I want you. Right up against the window.” I decided to go with 2x3 for this one.

 

Warnings: language, sex

Pairings: 2x3

  
  


“What kind of asshole misses his own birthday party?”

It was Hilde, who  _ wasn’t _ being helpful, and I glared at her across the table.

“Not helping,” I muttered as I dialed, yet again.

The call, yet again, went right to voicemail.

“ _ This is Trowa Barton. Leave a message _ .” Direct and succinct. As economical with words as he was with anything else. 

“Hey, babe, it’s me. Just… wondering where you are. If you’re okay. If you’re alive.” I hoped he was - I had plans to kill him myself, later, and I didn’t want them ruined by his untimely death. Plus, I’d feel like an asshole.

I hung up and looked around the table. 

Cathy, Trowa’s sister and my long-time adversary, was looking particularly smug, and I wanted to point out that her brother had stood up not  _ just _ me, but her as well. I wanted to, but I kept my mouth shut.

Heero, the mutual friend who had set up Trowa and I on our first date, had dragged me along on a hiking trip where I’d made an idiot of myself and fallen into poison ivy and, after a rather heated  _ nice to meet you, hope to see you again soon _ exchange of phone numbers and saliva and, unfortunately for Trowa, poison ivy, didn’t look all that surprised. He had warned me, on day one, that Trowa was only social and charming when he wanted to be - and he didn’t want to be all that often.

Quatre, Trowa’s best friend since childhood and, I had always thought, probably his first love. Quatre gave me a supportive smile, and I had the uncharitable thought that if  _ Quatre _ had arranged this whole thing, Trowa would have shown. Wouldn’t have dared to break his precious heart.

Wufei, another mutual friend, who looked irritated at having his time wasted.

And Hilde. Who looked like this was  _ exactly _ what she had expected.

“Look, you all go ahead and get started,” I gestured to the menus on the table. “I’m just going to… go down to his office and see if he’s still there.”

“I can go with you and-” Quatre started to stand up, but I held out a hand.

“No, no. It’s okay.” 

I did  _ not _ need Quatre’s help fetching my prodigal boyfriend.

I left the restaurant - the very  _ expensive _ restaurant that had taken a lot of called-in favors to book a table at - and hailed a cab.

It was a twenty-minute ride to the campus of the tech startup where Trowa worked, and while I wasn’t  _ surprised _ to see so many lights still on this late at night, I was still irritated.

Security buzzed me through - I’d made friends with most of them six months ago, when I’d dropped by Trowa’s office for lunch and dropped off a box of donuts for them - and I made my way up to the third floor, weaving through banks of cubicles until I reached the far end of the floor and the row of offices that separated the higher-ups from the ordinary coders.

Sure enough, the light was on under his closed door.

I sighed and knocked, not surprised when there was no answer.

I knocked again, louder, and there was still no answer.

I was willing to bet he had his headphones on. Probably had Debussy or Dvorak or whatever blaring away as he worked.

I eased open the door and sighed.

Yep. Exactly as I had pictured him.

Headphones on, hair falling over his face after having won the day-long war with the hair gel he had put in this morning, suit jacket abandoned and his shirt sleeves rolled up haphazardly, and a clutter of empty coffee mugs just out of reach of his hands as he typed away.

He was cute, sexy even, if not for the crease between his brows and the tired, glazed look in his eyes.

I closed the door behind me, letting it slam, and that finally registered with him.

He jumped, eyes flying over to me and widening in confusion.

“Duo?” He removed his headphones.

“The one and only,” I confirmed.

“What are you-” He looked away from my face and to the digital clock on his desk. 

_ 8:47. _

“Shit,” he muttered, and ran a hand over his face.

“Yep,” I agreed.

“I was supposed to meet you,” he frowned and reached for his phone. “Canlis. Shit. Duo-”

I held up a hand to forestall another apology. 

“Don’t worry about it.”

He gave me a look. 

He had been the one to say he wanted to try the place, had been the one to comment that it seemed like the perfect place for a celebration, and I’d thought- I’d hoped he was hinting at something, but my birthday had come and gone, Valentine’s too and our anniversary. So I had gotten off my ass and made a reservation, had had to call a few members of the board for the school where I worked until I  _ finally _ got a table for all of us for Trowa’s birthday, and I’d had to go out and buy a suit for the occasion, because, as the maitre'd tartly informed me over the phone, there was a  _ dress code _ at Canlis.

Trowa’s eyes looked me over, took in the fact that I wasn’t in my standard jeans and sweater, and he sighed.

“I’m so sorry. I-”

“I said,  _ don’t worry about it _ .”

I had long ago stopped having this fight with him. For the most part, his work was okay - it was interesting and he loved it, and hell, even I could admit the money was nice. But every few months, when the company launched a new product or market, Trowa‘s hours jumped from fifty a week to eighty or more, and really, it was just pure bad luck that it had coincided with his birthday. With my attempt to make a big gesture or whatever.

He sighed again, and looked back at the open screen on his computer.

I knew that look.

“How much more do you have?” I asked.

“A few hours. I-”

“No problem. You want me to order Chinese, or-”

“You don’t have to stay. I can get food, or-”

“Trowa, you  _ cannot  _ get food. The  _ last _ time you gave me that line you forgot to eat for  _ two days _ .”

He look chagrined, and I pulled out my phone to text Hilde.

**_Not going to make it back. Tro stuck at work._ **

Almost instantly, she responded.

**_Did you pop the question or decide to dump him? You know which way I’m voting._ **

I rolled my eyes and sighed. As usual, not helping.

**_Tell everyone else I’m sorry. And we’ll see them at Cathy’s on Sunday_ ** .

That would make Cathy smug - she had been the one to tell me it was stupid to try to do something during the week, anyway. Had said that she would have a cookout for Trowa at her house, like she did every year, and there just wasn’t any  _ reason _ for us to go out to some fancy restaurant when Trowa’s favorite food was hot dogs anyway.

It had taken all of my willpower not to correct her. 

Trowa’s favorite food hadn’t been  _ hot dogs _ since he was five. These days, he had developed an obsession with duck, but trying to convince Cathy that her little brother wasn’t a kid anymore was like trying to convince a brick wall to move.

I put my phone away, not really caring to see Hilde text back and tell me Trowa wasn’t worth my time. I’d been listening to that mantra for two years now, and it was wearing thin.

“I’m not really in the mood for Chinese,” Trowa sighed.

“Okay.” I came around the desk and leaned against it, and he rolled his chair closer and pulled me down into his lap.

I hugged him, and he wrapped his arms around my waist.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I know you wanted tonight to be a special thing for us.”

Having everyone else there had been a surprise. It had been almost as difficult to round all of  _ them _ up as it had been to get the reservation in the first place. No reason for him to know about that, however. It would only make him feel worse.

I kissed his forehead, then nudged his chin up until I could reach his lips.

He  _ was _ tired. The kiss started slow, a little hesitant, and I almost felt like making a stand and demanding he go home and get some sleep. But then his hands were under my suit jacket, pressing me closer, and his lips parted for my tongue.

Okay. So maybe he had some energy left after all, I thought with a smug smirk, as he shifted under me.

We were both breathing hard when we parted, and I smirked again.

He chuckled and ran his thumb over my lips.

“Thank you.”

I wasn’t entirely sure what he was thanking me for, so I shrugged.

“I do what I can. So. You want me to order food and hang with you, or-”

“I’m not really in the mood to eat,” he confessed, and I frowned. Him skipping meals was never a good thing where work was concerned. “I’m fine,” he quickly added. “Just not very hungry.”

“Okay,” I conceded. “Then what can I get you? More coffee? Pop?” I added, making a face. “What do you want?”

I started to stand up, but he pulled me back into his lap.

“I want you.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“You’ve got me, babe.”

He shook his head.

“No. I want you. Right now, up against the window.”

I looked over at the window that took up the corner of his office. It faced the parking lot, and I could very clearly see my battered Subaru down below. I was pretty sure the windows were tinted. Ish.

Then again, I’d been able to look up when I was outside and see the shadow of that damn ficus plant Cathy had given Trowa.

“Babe.”

“You don’t want to?” he asked, his hands moving around to my thighs and kneading the flesh.

“It’s not that,” I assured him. “You know it’s not.”

His hands moved higher, his right palm moving over my cock through the fabric, working me towards an erection.

“Then what? Afraid of being seen?”

I was. But then, I wasn’t the exhibitionist that Trowa was. The man did  _ not _ give a single fuck about the possibility of being caught screwing in public. We’d done it in cars, bathrooms, the beach - he’d given me head under the table at a restaurant, once, and I don’t think I was ever going to forget  _ that _ experience.

“You can spare the time?”

He gave me a look. “I’m sorry about dinner.” His hands started to move away, and I reached out to catch them.

“No,” I assured him. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel guilty. I know fucking me doesn’t take the same amount of time as eating a seven-course meal.”

“It could,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my jaw. “I’d like it to.”

I arched back as he ran his tongue from that spot to my ear, teasing at the lobe before taking it between his teeth and biting down.

“I can spare the time,” he assured me.

I let him undress me, wishing like hell he  _ did _ have the time to make this last because I doubted I was going to be putting on a suit again anytime soon, but he was quick, efficient as always, and soon enough I was naked and stroking my own cock while I watched him root around for lube.

“You’re wearing a lot,” I had to point out.

He smirked at me, still looking for the lube, and unfastened his trousers with one hand. I watched him reach in and pull out his cock, as hard and eager as my own.

“Not a problem,” he assured me, and my mouth went dry.

The thought of him fucking me while he was fully clothed was incredibly arousing.

He finally found the lube and led me to the window. He stretched my hands out and up, showing me how to brace my body against the wall.

“You’re so hot,” he said, as he leaned over to kiss his way down my spine.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I told him.

“Mm. But I’m not the one on display,” he pointed out. I shivered. He was right. I sure as hell was.

Thank God it was night, at least.

Still, there were probably thirty cars in the lot outside, and I’d passed someone going out to make a food run when I came in. 

I realized there was every chance that guy would return and look up to see my pale, naked self pressed against Trowa’s window while he fucked me from behind.

Trowa slid one lubed finger against my anus, teasing at the pucker until I relaxed and he slipped inside.

I moaned in pleasure. Fuck, but he knew my body, knew how to have me on my toes and rocking into him with just  _ one  _ fucking finger.

I heard him chuckle, smug but a little breathless at the same time.

A second finger joined the first, plunging deep into my body.

“Fuck, Tro. Just- Come on, just fuck me already,” I begged.

“You’re sure?” he asked, teasing me, because he knew I was. As often as we fucked, it wasn’t like I needed all that much prep anymore.

We’d stopped using condoms a while ago now, after that fight, after he’d told me he wanted me, and just me.

And so there wasn’t a pause, wasn’t a moment of fumbling with the foil, just his fingers gone one second and the next, the thick head of his cock spearing into me.

“Fuck!” I cried out. Maybe I hadn’t been as ready as I thought, but Trowa pressed me against the window, held my body in place with his own, and I let my head fall back onto his shoulder.

“You’re so impatient,” he growled.

“I know,” I agreed. “Fuck, don’t I know it.”

He chuckled, and gave a small, experimental roll of his hips.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I breathed through the strain. “Yeah.”

Of course, he could see the reflection of my face in the mirror, the tension between my eyes and around my mouth.

“You’re such a bad liar,” he muttered and, abandoning that plan, reached around to take hold of my softened cock.

“Yeah,” I agreed. I couldn’t remember a single fucking lie I had ever told successfully.

By the time I was hard again, I was ready for Trowa to move and I rocked back, letting him know.

“Oh, fuck, Duo,” he breathed, the hand not on my cock clawing at my hair. “Your ass was made for my cock.”

“Yeah it was, babe,” I crooned, as he pulled out and then drove his cock back in again, hard and deep and fuck. Yes. Yes.

“I’ve wanted to do this to you since I got the office,” Trowa groaned as he continued to fuck me, setting a brutal pace that left us with gasping from the effort.

“Yeah?” I wasn’t surprised. But I wanted him to keep talking. Trowa was normally so quiet, so reserved, unless he was drunk or horny, and then he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Every day I’ve looked at this window and thought about shoving your naked body against it, wondered if you’d like the cold glass against your nipples.”

“Fuck, yes,” I moaned encouragingly. I did like the feel of the cool glass against my skin, but I liked his rough, unsteady voice more.

“You’re a work of art, Duo, and I want everyone to know that you’re mine. I want everyone to see me fucking you, to hear you screaming my name when you come.”

“I’m yours, Tro,” I breathed. “Yours.”

“I know.” He twisted my head around and pressed a savage kiss to my lips, his hips moving in a frenzied pace that had my body slapping against the glass.

His hand on my cock was still moving, still stroking me determinedly, his grip just this side of painful, just the way I liked it, and I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on that, on his hand working over my flesh.

“Come for me, Duo. I’m so close, and I want to feel you come. I want your ass clenched around me. I want you begging me to stop, I want- “

“Fuck, fuck, Trowa!” I came with a cry, and wasn’t surprised when he covered my mouth with his hand to stifle it. Trowa really  _ was _ an exhibitionist, but he wasn’t an idiot - me screaming out his name wasn’t going to do his career any favors if the two coders I had walked past before heard me.

He kept his hand in place, even after I had quieted, and gave a few more thrusts, grunting as he drove deep into my body, and then I felt him come, felt the quiet gasp of amazement and the pulse of his cock.

He held me, thrusting shallowly, until he was sated.

“Thank you,” he said again, finally pulling his hand away.

My laugh was shaky. I was still a little breathless, more than a little overwhelmed.

“I’d say anytime, but then you’d get all kinds of ideas.”

He laughed, and then groaned softly as he eased out of my body.

“Fuck, Duo. I love you.”

“You love my  _ ass _ ,” I teased.

“No,” he corrected, and turned me around. “I love  _ you _ . I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to marry you.”

I stared. Those were supposed to be my words, supposed to be what I said to him later, after dinner, when we were home in bed and I had the darkness to hide my nerves.

“Tro-”

“You asked me what I wanted.”

“Yeah, and you said you wanted to fuck me against your window.”

“I’m greedy, I want more than that.”

I laughed and he smiled, soft and tentative, just a little self-doubt in the expression. Just enough to tug at me.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah? I’m greedy?”

“Yeah, you’re greedy, but yeah, I’ll marry you. Yeah, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

-o-

  
  



	24. Chapter 24

A/N: For Angel Starlight, who requested (text) I just wanted to say, I love you and forgive you, with Relena and Dorothy.

A/N 2: I decided to set this in my verse!with no name, which most of you are probably unfamiliar with, but if enough people enjoy this then I might actually getting around to writing more for it.

  
  


Warnings: angst, language, angst

Pairings: RxD, 2x3

  
  


“You know that feeling when you have sand  _ everywhere _ and you can’t decide if it’s the sand between your toes, or the sand under your fingernails, or the same in your ear, or the sand up your butt that’s bothering you the most?”

I snorted a laugh, and looked up from my laptop to see Duo Maxwell, my photographer, pull off his Boonie hat and drop it onto the table, a shower of sand falling off of it and off of him.

I reflexively pulled my laptop back, even though, with it’s military grade case and protected keypad, there wasn’t any real danger.

“What happened to you? Did you fall into a dune?”

“No, I was fucking  _ attacked  _ by one.”

I arched my eyebrows at that, sure there was a good story there. With Duo, there was always a good story - and rarely one you were expecting.

I still remembered the day we had met. 

Over the last seven years, I had worked with a string of freelance photographers that the  _ Times _ hired to go out into the field with me whenever I went to the Middle East to work. Each one of them had lasted exactly one assignment and then requested, very respectfully, to never work with someone as batshit crazy and careless with her own life as I was. 

Just back from a month in Afghanistan, and only two days after I had edited and turned in the final copy of my piece, I was already ready to get back out in the field, and when I walked into my editor’s office and saw the lean, long-haired, jean clad  and firm butt in front of the desk, I had thought that, at  _ last, _ my prayers had been answered and I would be assigned a hot female photographer.

But then my editor had gestured, and the long-haired photographer had turned to grin at me and I had realized, even before I saw the lack of cleavage, that Duo was  _ not _ a hot female.

Duo was, I learned on our first assignment together, a pain in the ass, a loudmouth, a damn fine photographer, and as much of a thrill seeker as I was. We were the perfect match - hiding behind rubble while the troops we were embedded with took fire and then, as soon as we could, sneaking out to document the horror of war. 

Duo lasted one assignment. And then another, and then another, until now, two years later, he barely even bothered to pretend being freelance. 

Before Duo could fill me in on his latest misadventure, however, Quatre Winner, the AP reporter tagging along with us to go through the Yemeni border check, came over to the table.

“We’re moving out in fifteen,” he said. 

I looked up at him with sympathy. It was his first assignment in the Middle East, and his fair skin was as red as a boiled lobster. 

“Sounds good.” I finished typing up my notes, saved them, and packed away my computer.

“You heard from Doro yet?” Duo asked, when Quatre had left us alone again.

I gave him a sharp look.

“No. Of course not.”

Duo rolled his eyes.

“If you’re seriously waiting for her to apologize, you’d be better off waiting for the sun to go nova.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but then I closed it. He was, after all, right.

He had known Dorothy just as long as I had, and while he did  _ not _ know my fiancee intimately, he knew her temperament.

We had met eighteen months ago, when Dorothy had been a surgeon with Doctors Without Borders and Duo and I had done a story on one of their field hospitals. I couldn’t say it was love at first sight - as gorgeous as Dorothy was, even with a smatter of blood across the bridge of her nose and her unwashed hair pulled into a sloppy bun and barely contained by a scrub cap, she had grated on my nerves with her arrogance and sense of superiority. 

We had been at the hospital a week, and I had had dozens of chances to reaffirm my opinion of Dorothy as a sociopathic narcissist, when an IED sent six civilians our way and I stood by and watched Dorothy save the life of a seven year old girl, watched her comfort the child’s mother when the girl’s brother died, watched Dorothy walk out of the tent, pull off her cap and hang her head in defeat, and I realized that I had been wrong.

That didn’t mean, of course, that she wasn’t  _ still _ a sociopathic narcissist. It just meant that I wanted her to be  _ my _ sociopathic narcissist. When she had finally accepted a position at Columbia University Medical Center as a cardiothoracic attending six months ago, we had moved in together, had spent half of the time fighting and half of the time living in each other’s pockets. It was hell, and it was bliss.

And I wasn’t going to be the one to give in, not this time.

So I glared at Duo and asked, my voice as calm as possible.

“Heard from Trowa?”

As intended, it shut him up. He snapped his mouth closed with an audible click, grabbed his hat, and started to walk away.

I sighed. That had been low. I had been spending too much time with Dorothy.

“Duo-”

“Listen, I get it,” he turned back, his eyes furious. “You’re in love with someone who is a pain in the ass - who makes  _ difficult _ seem like a compliment, and you’re scared because it’s so easy for her to make you miserable or make you feel like you’re on the fucking moon. I  _ get _ it.”

And he did. I knew he did.

“But you and me - you and Doro and Tro and I, it’s not the same. You and Doro fight because you love each other and she’s terrified you’re going to get killed in the field, or worse, injured, and she won’t be there to save your life. Me and Tro- Hell, Relena. I was there, at the airport - I watched Doro refuse to give you your bag until you kissed her, until you held her. She’s a crazy fucking bitch, Relena, but she loves you and you love her. Trowa? He didn’t even get off the couch when I left the apartment. He didn’t even  _ look _ at me when I kissed him goodbye. So, no. No, I  _ haven’t _ heard from him, and if I thought calling him - or texting him or- or- if I thought there was a way to get through to him, I’d fucking do it.”

He shoved his hat back on his head, ignoring the sand that fell out, and stalked away.

I sighed and felt like an asshole, like an idiot - like a selfish, spoiled brat, and I  _ hated _ feeling like that.

Duo was right, as he unfortunately usually was.

I looked over at the convey. Once we left this outpost, once we headed into Yemen, my cell service was guaranteed to be  _ awful _ at best. This was my last chance to reach out to Dorothy for the next week, at least.

I pulled out my phone and looked, just in case she had texted me. She hadn’t. No emails either.

I opened up our text history, stared at her last message.

**If we can’t agree on this, I don’t see how we can agree on getting married.**

It had been stupid, had been another fight about moving out of my apartment and into something bigger, something  _ newer, _ with perfect plumbing and perfect fixtures and none of the history of the renovated Brownstone we currently shared. She had called me spoiled, I had called her selfish, then she had called me an idiot. 

I had been waiting for her to apologize for two days now, ever since we left Riyadh. But even after forty-eight hours, this was the last text I had from her.

I sighed. She wasn’t going to apologize. But Duo was right, she  _ did _ love me. And I loved her. She  _ was  _ my crazy bitch, I thought with a fond smile.

**I just wanted to say, I love you and forgive you.**

It was as generous as I could stand to be. It was passive-aggressive - which she so often accused me of being, but it wasn’t any less true.

“Let’s go!” the leader of the troops called out.

I stowed the rest of my gear and walked over to the Humvee and hopped in beside Duo.

He shifted away, still angry, and I didn’t blame him.

The troops piled in and the engine started up. 

We’d been on the road for an hour, Duo still fuming beside me, when I reached out and laced our fingers together.

“He loves you,” I assured him.

Duo snorted, but he didn’t pull away.

“Does he, though? Ever since-” He paused, drew in a ragged breath. “Ever since he came back, he’s been different. It’s not just that he lost his leg - or, hell, maybe it’s  _ all _ about his fucking leg. But he- he’s not  _ Trowa _ anymore. It’s like… before, he was a soldier and that was who he  _ was, _ and now… Now, without that… he’s just… a ghost.”

I could only imagine what either of them was going through. Duo had met Trowa on that same assignment when I had met Dorothy - Trowa had been one of the American troops deployed to deal with the aftermath of the IED - and it  _ had _ been love at first sight for them. I used to be jealous, of how easy it was for the two of them to just look at each other, to just  _ smirk _ and need nothing else in the world. It felt stupid and petty, now, knowing how difficult things had become ever since Trowa had had to have his leg amputated and been discharged from the army.

“Duo, I-”

Whatever paltry comfort I could have offered died in my throat when an explosion tore through the ground in front of us, blinding and deafening me, and stealing away gravity as the Humvee was launched through the air, as I felt the world around me spinning madly out of control. As I-

Felt nothing.

 

-o-

  
  



	25. Chapter 25

A/N: For Cylina Nightshade, who requested #44: “I got the mirror so you could see yourself while I’m fucking you.” I decided to go with 1x2x3

 

Warnings: language, sex

Pairings: 1x2x3

 

It was Wednesday, which meant Heero and Duo got off work early. It meant Duo brought Heero back to his apartment and undressed him on the way to the bedroom. It meant Duo teasing Heero, promising a slow, hard fuck as he nudged Heero closer to the huge, four poster bed that seemed so incongruous in the otherwise simply-furnished bedroom.

But Duo had chosen the bed frame for a reason. Not just its size - a kingsized bed that, he joked, was bigger than the cabin he had been assigned aboard  _ Peacemillion _ when he crewed on the ship after the war. But because the posts, one at each corner, were perfect for tying Heero up when the mood struck him.

But it was Wednesday, and Duo didn’t tie Heero up on Wednesdays. That was Thursdays, sometimes Fridays, and one very memorable Tuesday.

When Duo pushed Heero back onto the bed, palm on his chest, just over his heart, and a sensuous smirk on his lips, Heero looked up.

“I got the mirror so you could see yourself while I’m fucking you.”

Heero shivered at the words, at the promise in Duo’s eyes.

Duo loved the way Heero looked during sex, loved his loss of control and the look of wonder in his eyes when he came. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you fall apart, Ro. You have to see it.”

Wednesdays were for making love, more than for fucking, and it was the night that Heero and Duo had to themselves, just the two of them.

Except for  _ this _ Wednesday, when Trowa had agreed to trade shifts with another agent and forgotten to tell them. 

So this Wednesday, when Heero’s ass was full of Duo’s cock and Duo was enticing Heero to open his eyes and look at himself, Trowa walked into the bedroom and startled them both.

Heero looked guilty, started to crawl away until Duo latched onto his thighs and held him in place.

Duo, though, met Trowa’s gaze and arched an eyebrow in question.

“Traded shifts,” Trowa explained, looking at the sheen of sweat on their perfect bodies.

Duo nodded, the explanation enough for him, and his questioning look turned into one of invitation.

“Wanna join?”

Mondays and Saturdays, those were Trowa’s nights with Duo, when it was just the two of them and things were like before - before Duo had invited Heero into their bed. Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and Sundays - those nights they shared Duo. Trowa and Heero carefully navigating the limits of their desire, their need to be the singular focus of Duo’s lust and the knowledge that he would rather have neither of them if he couldn’t have both. 

The divided nights - one for Heero, two for Trowa - had been Duo’s sole compromise on the issue.

There had been so many missteps, over the seven months of this arrangement. So many times when Duo had grown fed up with the both of them and walked out and told them to work out their shit. Trowa had left, as well, a few times - not just walking out on the sex, but packing a bag and running away, joining Cathy at the circus for days, once for weeks. Heero never left, had only ever scooted to one side and listened while Trowa called Duo awful names and Duo glared back but remained silent, let Trowa empty out the poison of his own self-doubt.

Trowa looked past Duo, to Heero. After all, this was his night. His  _ one _ night.

“I’d like that,” Heero said after a long moment, almost too long.

But then Duo was grinning, was telling Trowa to get undressed and get his cock ready, because the sight of Trowa fucking Duo, while Duo fucked Heero, was going to be gorgeous.

And it was, Trowa had to agree, as he arched his back and looked up at the mirror, as he met Heero’s gaze in the reflection. As their hands met over Duo’s thighs, holding him together for the first time.

 


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: For Ro, who asked for something else entirely and I wrote this instead but I’m still going to write that one as well. Because this got away from me entirely.

 

Warnings: language, sex

Pairings: 5x3

 

They had met at Sally’s birthday party. It was one of those excruciatingly painful company events with a cake and awkward toasts, where a card had gone around and half of the people who signed it didn’t even know who Sally was.

Wufei wouldn’t have even bothered to get up from his desk, to stand there and mumble his way through  _ Happy Birthday _ , but he had had to refill his coffee and Quatre had seen him, had grabbed him by the arm and smiled brightly, and shoved the cake into his hands and told him that  _ Wufei _ should give it to her.

So he had,  _ just _ managing to keep a scowl off his face because this was Sally, after all, and even though she had a generally higher opinion of humankind than Wufei did, she wasn’t a fan of these sorts of things either. 

In fact, aside from Quatre, their too nice,  _ too _ meddlesome boss, Wufei didn’t think  _ any _ of the employees of Winning Strategies liked these kinds of things.

After delivering the cake, Wufei had moved off to the side, had retrieved the coffee mug Quatre had taken from his hands, and refilled and sipped it on the sidelines, glaring at the proceedings, until he had seen Trowa walk in.

He had walked past the open door of the conference room, stopped, smirked slightly, and had walked into the room and posted himself by the door.

Wufei couldn’t help but let his gaze linger on this stranger, on his impossibly long legs and his broad shoulders. On his  _ face _ . Even half-obscured, it was captivating. His features were regular, bland even, but there was something about the line of his jaw, the arch of his cheek, the depth of his green gaze, that made him startlingly handsome.

Trowa had looked up, had caught Wufei staring at him, and had arched an eyebrow in question, maybe in judgement, but he had seemed more amused than anything else.

Wufei had looked away, huffing in annoyance - he  _ hated _ being the source of amusement for other people - but a moment later Trowa had been beside him, leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets and so casual he might as well have been part of the office decor.

“Who are you?” Wufei had demanded, knowing it was rude.

Trowa’s lips had twitched. Amused again.

“Trowa,” he had said, his voice soft, maybe in an effort not to draw attention away from Sally’s little fete. “I’m a friend of Quatre’s.”

Oh. One of those.

One of the endless carousel of boys that Quatre paraded through the office.

None of them lasted - Quatre seemed to be cursed with the inability to commit, to remain interested in a relationship longer than two weeks - though there had been that one… Duo? Who had made it an entire month before Quatre stopped bringing him around.

Trowa had seen Wufei’s disdain and he had smirked again.

“I’m just a friend,” he had clarified. 

Wufei wasn’t sure why he had bothered -  _ he _ didn’t care what Quatre did, or  _ who _ .

He had pushed himself away from the wall and walked away, intent on going back to his cubicle and trying to get  _ some _ work done.

But he couldn’t help looking over his shoulder, couldn’t help catching Trowa’s gaze again, couldn’t help flushing when he had smirked.

-o-

A week later, Trowa called him.

“Quatre gave me your number,” he said in greeting, not even identifying himself.

It was sad or - it was  _ something _ \- that Wufei didn’t even need to ask who it was. He didn’t get many calls outside of work, except from his mother who called him almost every other day to remind him how tired and lonely she was, and how much she deserved to have grandchildren to dote upon because she had sacrificed so very, very much for Wufei, or Meilin, who called him at least once a week, probably just to remind them both how much they didn’t get along. He also, of course, had spent the last week thinking about Trowa, remembering his tiny smirk, his eyes, his-

“Why?” Wufei demanded.

“Because I asked for it.” Trowa sounded amused, and Wufei had to take a deep breath and resist the urge to just hang up.

“I assumed that much,” he bit out.

“Anything else you want to assume?”

Wufei closed his eyes. There were  _ all _ kinds of things he wanted to assume, but life had taught him  _ not _ to do any of that. So he remained quiet, and he waited.

“I’d like to take you out to dinner. Tomorrow.”

Wufei scowled. He didn’t like the stuttering beat of his heart, the racing of his pulse. He didn’t trust it.

“I’m busy tomorrow,” he lied.

“The day after, then.”

“I can’t.”

“Friday.”

“No, I-”

Trowa chuckled, the sound rich and deep, and it made Wufei shiver. He closed his eyes, licked his lips, and tried to memorize every nuance of that sound.

“Do you  _ want _ to go out with me, Wufei?”

Trowa said his name perfectly, his voice dropping a register and turning it into an endearment, almost.

“Yes,” Wufei breathed.

“Then  _ when _ would you like to go out?” He still sounded amused, but it was so light, so faint, that it didn’t cut through Wufei anymore. Merely teased at him.

“Not dinner.” It felt like too much - felt like so much could go wrong - and Wufei knew himself. He knew how grating he was, knew that even fifteen minutes in his company was more than enough for most people.

“Coffee? Lunch? Brunch? Breakfast in bed?”

The mental image accompanying that last suggestion hit Wufei with a swift, implacable jolt of lust. 

_ Yes _ .

“Coffee,” he managed to say, closing his eyes against the image of Trowa naked, the fantasy of waking up to a gorgeous man ready and aching to be fucked by Wufei.

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Wufei agreed. “Not Starbucks,” he added, hastily.

“Daily Grind?” Trowa named the hole in the wall coffee shop two blocks from Winning Strategies.

“Yes.”

“Seven-thirty?”

It was early, but then, they both had work - or at least, Wufei did. He had no idea what Trowa did.

“Yes.”

“Sleep well, Wufei.” It was a tease, maybe even a taunt, and it sent another shiver through Wufei’s body.

 

-o-

 

Trowa showed up in jeans and a sweater. It wasn’t a bad look on him, considering the way that the jeans hugged his lean hips and the sweater his torso, but it made Wufei wonder if he  _ did _ work - or what he did that allowed him to dress so casually.

They ordered their coffee, added cream and sugar - Wufei adding so much sugar that Trowa arched an eyebrow and smirked - and sat down at a table as far from the door and the coffee counter as possible. Even so, it wasn’t quiet or very private.

“What are you so anxious about?” Trowa finally asked, five minutes in, when Wufei still hadn’t been able to decide  _ what _ to say, and had instead spent the time slowly scalding his tongue on the indecently hot and  _ far _ too sweet coffee.

He was amused again, but it wasn’t- it was bearable, just the hint of warmth in his eyes and tone. There was nothing cruel about his teasing, nothing patronizing about his humor.

“I’m a very difficult person,” Wufei sat up straighter. He wasn’t going to change himself - not even for this gorgeous man - and, while he might spend more than enough time hating himself, he wasn’t going to hide who he was.

Trowa arched an eyebrow again.

“Difficult how?” He sounded genuinely curious, as if Wufei’s admission was some part of a puzzle he wanted to solve.

“I… am not an easy person to like.”

“No?” Trowa took a sip of his coffee, eyes dancing over the lip of his cup. “I like you just fine.”

Wufei almost spilled his coffee, and he set it back down hastily and glared.

“You don’t know me.”

Trowa shrugged one shoulder in a move that was so carelessly elegant it made Wufei stare.

“I’d like to. I’m trying to.”

“What do you want to know? I’m twenty-eight, I live alone with two cats and I’ve been engaged once. My work is the  _ only _ interesting thing about my life, and I don’t even care for it all that much. I have no close friends, I haven’t dated anyone in three years, and the highlight of my days is fighting with the cats for a spot on the couch.”

“Who wins?”

“What?” Trowa’s question derailed Wufei’s spiral into anxiety and irritation.

“The fight for a spot on the couch? Who wins?”

Wufei glared at him, and Trowa smirked back, set his cup down and leaned across the table, inches away from Wufei’s face, and the teasing was gone from his face and voice.

“Want an ally? In that epic couch battle?”

 

-o-

 

The second date went better than the first, but only  _ just _ . Lunch - Trowa had picked the place again, and it had been easier. Not  _ easy _ , because nothing was ever easy for Wufei, but Trowa had coaxed him into conversation, eventually, when he made an offhand reference to Sherlock Holmes. They argued, briefly and heatedly, over the latest episode of  _ Elementary _ , before Wufei realized it was childish and backed down with a blush.

Trowa had kissed him, just a brush of his lips over Wufei’s that meant nothing, but made Wufei feel  _ everything _ , and Trowa teasingly suggested they do dinner next time.

 

-o-

 

The waiter had just dropped off their salads when Trowa looked over at Wufei, when he offered up that now oh-so-familiar smirk.

“I want you to come over tonight, after dinner.”

Wufei stared.

“I’m asking you now, so you have the entire meal to figure out how much I want you, so you don’t say no right away.”

It was a near thing, even then. Wufei could think of all the ways this was going to go wrong - he was going to say something that finally offended Trowa instead of amused him. He was going to say something that gave away just how little he had to offer - though he was pretty sure Trowa  _ had _ to have picked up on that before now. He was, after all, not stupid. Wufei was, without a doubt, going to embarrass himself when -  _ if _ \- Trowa invited him into his bed. 

Trowa paid the check, stood up from the table, and looked down at Wufei with his endless eyes, patient and unimposing even though he was towering above him.

When Trowa unlocked his front door, he paused, looked over his shoulder as if to make sure Wufei was still there, and then let him in.

They kissed, and Wufei realized just how much better at this Trowa was than him. There was nothing hesitant about the way Trowa parted his lips or caressed Wufei’s, nothing awkward about the way Trowa’s tongue teased Wufei’s. 

“Wufei.” Trowa pulled back and looked at him, serious again. “Do you  _ want _ to fuck me?”

His mouth went dry. Of course he did. How could anyone with eyes and a cock  _ not _ want to fuck Trowa? How could anyone  _ not _ want to bury himself in that lean body and see those bewitching eyes clouded with lust, or his too-often amused mouth open in a cry of ecstasy?

But Trowa was waiting for an answer, as if it wasn’t obvious.

“Yes,” Wufei managed to say after clearing his throat.

“You’re sure?”

Wufei rolled his eyes, and he saw one corner of Trowa’s mouth lift.

“ _ Yes _ .”

“Wufei, you might not have picked up on this yet, but I don’t care that you’re difficult. I don’t care,” Trowa paused and started to unbutton Wufei’s shirt, “that you aren’t  _ easy _ .” 

Trowa held his gaze as he pushed Wufei’s shirt off his shoulders.

“I don’t even care that you’re  _ wrong _ most of the time.”

“Wrong? What am I wrong about?”

Trowa rolled his eyes and kissed Wufei, easing his anger at being called  _ wrong _ , kissing him until Wufei was breathless and clutching Trowa’s waist to anchor himself to reality.

“You’re wrong about Holmes and Watson being-”

“I’m not wrong, it’s going to happen,” Wufei growled.

But Trowa just smirked and ran his hands over Wufei’s chest, raking his flesh lightly.

Wufei shivered and closed his eyes.

“You’re also wrong about your work being the most interesting thing about you.” Trowa leaned down and licked the shell of Wufei’s ear before biting the sensitive lobe.

Wufei moaned, the sound escaping him before he could stop it.

Trowa looked triumphant, his smirk broader than Wufei had ever seen it before.

“What?” Wufei demanded.

“Nothing. I just want to see how far I have to go before you’re far enough gone to moan my name.”

“Farther than that,” Wufei confessed, wishing he wasn’t so tense, so  _ bad _ at all of this, and-

“I’m prepared to go as far as I need to,” Trowa cut into his thoughts. “As far as  _ you _ need me to.”

 

-o-

 


	27. Chapter 27

A/N: For Cylina Nightshade, who requested #7, “I want to make every inch of you mine.” I decided to go with 1x2

 

Warnings: language, sex

Pairings: 1x2

 

_ Follow your emotions _ .

Probably not the best motto, not the best MO, when those feelings led you into the bed of Shinigami.

During the war, he had been… more than a comrade, not quite a friend. Maybe a brother. I didn’t know what it was like, to have a brother. There were times I hated him, times I wished I had  _ never _ had the bad luck to meet him. And then there were times that seeing him made me close my eyes and sigh in relief, because everything was going to be  _ okay _ . I was going to be okay.

And then there were times when I looked at him and  _ forgot _ how to breathe. When he smiled, that dark, wicked promise of death and victory. When he looked over at me with mischief in his eyes.

So maybe not a brother. The thoughts I had for Duo weren’t… very brotherly.

Especially not after, not when I worked for Preventers and he helped Hilde with the scrap yard. 

We grew up, we learned how to function in a world that didn’t need child soldiers - or at least, we learned how to  _ pretend _ \- and when we met again, for the fifth-year anniversary to commemorate the end of human warfare, I knew that my emotions were going to get me killed.

Because falling for Death - worshipping him and dreaming of him and  _ needing _ him - that wasn’t the way to stay alive. The way to stay happy. To stay sane.

But I fell for him, and I fell hard.

I arranged my schedule around his, I took missions that would send me close enough that I could convince myself a sixteen-hour detour wasn’t a big deal. I  _ yearned _ for him.

And he…

He looked at me with those mischievous eyes and his wicked smile and invited me in.

He treated me like some lost treasure, like some great relic he had discovered. 

We didn’t even fuck, not for the first few months. He just teased me, kissed me and held me and stripped me down so he could run his hands over my body, but he wouldn’t give in to my pleas for more, just laughed when I begged. 

It wasn’t until he came to  _ me _ , until I opened my door and found Death on my doorstep, that he gave me what I wanted, what I needed.

He stepped inside, dropped his bag, and advanced on me like the prey I was.

“I want to make every inch of you mine,” he said. He promised.

And I shivered at the hunger in his gaze. 

I was afraid. Not so much of  _ him _ as I was of losing myself to him entirely. Duo would consume me, and I wanted him to. Needed him to.

His fingers, rough with hard labor, undressed me with more care than I thought possible from him.

“This is mine,” he whispered against my throat, kissing my pulse.

“And this.” He licked across my collarbone, bit down on the right side until I moaned and fisted my hands in his hair.

“This,” he kissed the skin that his hands revealed as he unbuttoned my shirt. “This, this, this.”

“You’re mine, Heero. Your body.” He licked along the waistband of my trousers, and I moaned again. Like an animal crying out for its master.

“Your soul.” He bit down on my hip, hard, and I had to bite my lip to keep from reacting.

“No,” he reprimanded me. “You are  _ mine, _ Heero. Don’t you dare stay silent when your mouth belongs to me.”

He repeated the action, the bite even more savage, and I wondered if he was going to break the skin. A shudder went through me. I hoped he did. Hoped I would have the evidence of this night for weeks to come.

He sucked on the bite and I did cry out then, allowed the low, desperate keen to escape, and he hummed in satisfaction.

“That’s mine too,” he said, pulling back to look up at me. “All of you.”

“All of me,” I agreed breathlessly.


	28. Chapter 28

A/N: For Cylina Nightshade, who requested “I don’t care if they’re watching. I’m not done with you yet.” I decided to go with 2x3. (and threw in a little bit of surfer!verse feels for Maeve). Okay but ALSO. This is way less kinky than cute. But I AM putting this line on file for later use in a much kinkier context.

 

Warnings: language, sexy times

Pairings: 2x3, 3x?

  
  


It was the last night of summer. Or, at least, the last night of summer when they would all be together.

Duo and Heero left for Carolina in the morning, Quatre flew out to Princeton the day after, Wufei only had a few days left until he went out to California to start at Stanford, Meilin moved to New York City in three days, Hilde and Relena were driving up to Brown - had decided to turn it into a road trip and would leave tomorrow as well.

Which meant, that after tonight, only Zechs, Solo, Cathy and Trowa would be left. Them, and the tourists who would continue to swarm the island until the end of September.

Zechs still hadn’t said a word about why he wasn’t going back to Georgetown, and as much as Trowa wanted to know, he also didn’t want to play to the other man’s vanity by asking.

It had been a bit awkward, texting everyone to invite them over for a crab boil at Cathy’s insistence. And Trowa had snuck a beer from the fridge and gone to the back porch of their cottage, had stretched out on the hammock and given himself a brief  _ get the fuck over it _ lecture before pulling out his phone and thumbing through his contact list.

Quatre, first. The easy one. The only friend that Trowa hadn’t made a complete fool of himself with. Mostly because Quatre had known, even before Trowa himself had, why Trowa was being such an idiot.  _ I’m still your best friend, Trowa. Even if I’m in New Jersey and you’re here. You’re not going to get rid of me that easily. You’re stuck with me forever. _

**Cathy wants to do a crab boil on Sunday. Come by at 7.**

Only seconds later, his phone buzzed with the reply.

**Can’t wait! I’ll bring some dessert!**

And then, the harder texts to make.

Meilin. Who maybe didn’t want to ever speak to him again after that night two weeks ago, when she, Trowa and Wufei had gone sailing and they’d all had too much to drink, and Trowa had found himself between them, buried deep in Meilin while Wufei fucked him. It had been Trowa’s first threesome, Wufei’s first time  _ period _ , and Trowa hadn’t seen either of them since that night.

The same text, but not surprisingly, there was no instantaneous response.

His text to Wufei was a little different - Meilin, for all that she had never really seemed all that attracted to Wufei  _ or _ Trowa, at least viewed sex as something that any normal eighteen year old could have or not have without it becoming an angst-inducing thing, had probably just shrugged off that night and decided to move on with her life.

Wufei, on the other hand…

**Cathy is doing a crab boil on Sunday at 7. I’d like to see you again before you leave. If you don’t mind.**

It wasn’t quite the right thing to say, but Trowa wasn’t really sure what  _ was _ , so he sent the text anyway.

The text for Relena would have been easy, would have been the easiest of them all.  _ Should _ have been, but Trowa was, as he had proven time and time again this summer, a fucking idiot. He and Relena had been having sex for years now - they had been each other’s firsts, and she was, after Quatre, his closest friend. She had probably realized there was a  _ reason _ he wanted to spend more time with her this summer, a reason that every time they were alone he was working her out of her bikini and eating her out or, when he remembered to bring condoms, fucking her. But she just smiled and laughed, teased him the way she always had, and went along with it. 

Until the night she saw Trowa giving her brother a blowjob. That had been last month, and while she hadn’t  _ ignored _ him since then, neither had she had any interest in letting Trowa anywhere near her.

He tried to figure out what he was supposed to say, how to apologize, how to explain - how to explain  _ what _ exactly? That Trowa knew he was being abandoned by all of his friends, the people he had known since daycare, since their first fish surfboards as kids - that everyone was going away to college, to do great things and have amazing lives, and he was being left behind, was stuck on the island, and probably would be for his entire life. It was too pathetic to explain.

**I’m sorry that I’m an idiot. Cathy is doing a crab boil on Sunday at 7. Come?**

He didn’t bother to text Zechs - Cathy saw him at work, every day at the marina, and if she wanted him to come,  _ she _ could invite that asshole herself. 

Heero after that. Heero, who had had a crush on Trowa for years, had kissed Trowa when they were seven in front of everyone else and punched Otto, the eight year old who dared to call them fags, in the mouth. Heero, who Trowa had tried to keep at arm’s length because Heero was brilliant and driven and even more socially awkward than Trowa, and Heero- Heero deserved better. Of course, in the middle of Trowa’s Summer of Fucking Bad Decisions, Trowa had decided what the hell - if Heero really wanted him that much, if Heero really cared, then Trowa was an idiot to turn him away. So Trowa, tagging along with Heero while he worked - cleaning up beach houses after the weekly renters left and preparing them for the next clients - cornered him in the master bathroom of a house overlooking the south point of Pawleys Island, and spent four hours giving Heero what he had wanted for so long. 

That had been in June, and while Heero had acted like it was fine, had gone surfing with Trowa the very next morning and not said a word about it, Trowa knew that he had somehow disappointed him. Not surprising, all things considered. Trowa disappointed everyone.

**Cathy’s doing a crab boil on Sunday at 7.**

The same text that he had sent to Quatre, more or less. He knew he owed Heero an apology, but he still wasn’t sure how to word it, how to make things better between them.

Hilde next. Hilde, who seemed to waver between hating Trowa on sight and being his comrade in arms for doing really stupid shit. It had been Hilde, after all, who had been by his side the night they were thrown in jail two years ago for lighting fireworks off on the 4th of July. She wasn’t even really  _ Trowa’s _ friend. She was Duo’s friend, and had joined their group because of him, and didn’t seem to even  _ like _ anyone else except for Meilin. Hilde had, not surprisingly, turned down Trowa’s attempt to do something very stupid, had laughed and poked him in the chest, and told him to settle down.  _ I don’t like dick, Tro, and even if I did, yours wouldn’t be my first choice. Or my second. Or my- _ Trowa had cut her off, getting the picture by that point. But it still stung, to be turned down like that, and every time she had seen him since that night at the end of June, she had grinned or, a few times, burst out laughing and had to walk away and compose herself.

**Crab boil at 7 on Sunday** . 

No need to add on a  _ please come _ or an apology - she’d come if she wanted to, and he wasn’t going to apologize to  _ her _ after giving her such an endless source of amusement.

And that just left one text to make.

Duo.

Duo, who had grown up with even less money than Trowa. Duo, who woke up hours before dawn each day to check the crab traps for his brother, and then worked his ass off until mid-afternoon in the shack of a restaurant that Solo ran, that just barely scraped by even during the height of tourist season. Duo, who was brilliant and determined enough to get a full ride to Carolina. Duo, who wanted to escape the island more than any of them. Duo, who Trowa had been in love with since the day he had moved to Pawleys, since Trowa had first seen him on a surfboard, all of nine, riding the waves like he was a shark. Duo, who had completely freaked out when Trowa finally tried to kiss him, three days ago, when they had been waxing down their boards. Duo, who had jerked away with wide eyes, had mumbled something about maybe it not being a good day to surf after all. Duo, who had run the fuck away and hadn’t talked to him since.

**Crab boil on Sunday. Please come?**

Trowa hadn’t added the time, had purposefully and pathetically left it out in the vain hope that Duo would at least have to text him back, at least have to  _ ask _ what time it was before he invented some excuse for not showing.

Sure enough, five minutes later, as Trowa finished off the last of the beer and scrolled through the handful of replies - yesses from everyone - Duo’s name popped up on his phone.

**What time?**

Trowa almost typed the wrong thing, almost typed in eight instead.

  1. **Can you make it?**



He was being pathetic. Was being pushy, and if there was one thing Duo hated, it was pushy. He liked to do things  _ his _ way, and didn’t like to have his hand forced.

**Can Solo come?**

Trowa didn’t know if it was good or bad that Duo wanted his brother there. Maybe Solo wanted to kick Trowa’s ass for daring to touch his little brother - Solo knew Duo could fight his own battles, but he’d had no qualms kicking the asses of shitty tourists over the years who gave Duo shit. Or maybe things were okay, and Solo just wanted to hang out because he and Cathy, who had dated in high school, never got to see much of each other because of their work schedules.

**Sure.**

Trowa didn’t think Cathy would mind - and if it meant Duo would come, Trowa didn’t really care if she did.

  1. **We’ll try.**



 

-o-

 

Trowa spent all of Sunday in a foul mood.

_ We’ll try _ . 

What the hell did that even mean?

It wasn’t like there was a hurricane inbound, or as if he had anything more trying than a four hour drive ahead of him the next day - a drive by Heero, no doubt, who wouldn’t let Duo behind the wheel of his truck ever again after the stunt Duo had pulled last year. 

_ We’ll try _ .

He cleaned up the cottage with a vengeance while Cathy was still at work, dusting and mopping and vacuuming angrily, until the cottage looked better than it ever had, until Cathy walked in at three and stared, open-mouthed and speechless.

She’d asked what the hell was wrong with him, but Trowa, already in his board shorts, had just shrugged and walked past her on his way to the beach.

The waves weren’t great, the swells only three or four feet, but it wasn’t as if Pawleys had  _ good _ waves until September anyway. September and April, the best surfing of the year, and Trowa would be alone for it. Everyone else would be away.

He lost track of time, as he always did when he was in the water, and by the time he walked the quarter-mile back to the cottage, he could see a line of vehicles parked out front.

He was late. Of course.

With a sigh, he stored his board and rinsed off in the outdoor shower, slicking his hair back and wishing he wasn’t such a fuckup. Everyone was already there, and here he was, about to walk through the cottage half-dressed and soaking wet.

They were all on the back porch, crammed together on the wicker loveseat and chairs, a few just sitting on the deck, and Duo and Relena sharing the hammock while Cathy tended the giant pot on the grill.

“Hey!” Quatre greeted him. “You made it! We were about to send out a search party.”

Quatre sounded genuinely happy to see him, and Trowa managed a small smile.

He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, and there was too much he needed to say, too much he never could.

“I’ll just get changed,” he gestured towards the interior of the house vaguely.

“Not on our account,” Meilin said with a wink. “I don’t think anyone minds the view.”

Hilde snorted at that and rolled her eyes, but it made Trowa even more aware of the way that Heero and Wufei were looking at him. At the way that Duo and Relena  _ weren’t _ .

“I’ll be right back.”

He escaped, and wondered if maybe he could just go  _ back _ to the beach instead. After all, it was Cathy who had wanted to do this in the first place. She-

He sighed and grabbed a towel from the bathroom.

He needed to pull it together and stop being such a coward.

Trowa dried off, pulled on a clean pair of shorts and a light sweater, and went back outside.

Solo offered him a beer, which Trowa thought  _ probably _ meant he wasn’t going to get revenge for anything. 

Solo and Cathy had always been nonchalant about drinking. They weren’t stupid - teenagers were going to drink, and teenagers on Pawleys, who had little-to-no entertainment outside of the ocean or catching a ride to the mainland, were going to get into trouble. So, after Trowa turned sixteen, Cathy gave him a lengthy lecture about fucking up his liver or dying in a car crash, and told him to drink responsibly and not to become a heroine junkie. In Trowa’s mind, the speech was right up there with her sex talk - which she had delivered to him when he was fourteen, preemptively. She had listed all of the ways he could die horribly or be disfigured by diseases, had told him exactly how rough his life would be if he got some girl pregnant - awful because Cathy would make sure that Trowa was a better father than  _ theirs _ had ever been, and that meant he could say goodbye to surfing - and then she had demonstrated how to put a condom on a banana and told him that lube was going to be his best friend - whether he had sex with a girl, a guy or his own hand. As usual, the talk had left Trowa far more embarrassed than Cathy.

There wasn’t really anywhere for Trowa to sit, and he didn’t want to stand beside Zechs, who was looking like his normal smug self and eyeing Trowa with way too much interest, so he found himself standing beside Solo and Cathy.

It was awkward as hell, especially because Trowa was pretty sure he was cramping Solo’s attempts to flirt with his sister.

“Tro.”

He looked over to see that Duo and Relena had adjusted on the hammock, had swung around to dangle their legs over the side and made room for him.

Swallowing hard, trying to coax saliva back into his dry mouth, Trowa crossed the deck and sat down between them.

They had done this for years and Trowa had never felt like this, had never been so aware of Relena’s thigh against his or Duo’s arm pressed against him. 

He only had a few minutes to suffer - and enjoy it - before Cathy called out for him.

“Tro, we’re almost ready here. Why don’t you go set up the table in the yard?”

With a sigh, Trowa propelled himself up from the hammock.

“I’ll give you a hand,” Duo offered, eyebrows raised in question.

“Thanks.”

Duo followed Trowa down and waited for him to unlock the storage shed under the house. Trowa rooted around for the picnic blankets they stored in there, while Duo grabbed a few cinder blocks and set them up for the pot to rest on.

Trowa finally found the blankets, and Duo helped him spread them out over the stubby grass.

“Listen, Tro, about the other day-”

“I’m sorry,” Trowa interrupted him. He didn’t want to hear Duo let him down, didn’t want to hear Duo explain all of the reasons why  _ they _ were never going to happen.

“No,  _ I’m sorry _ .” Duo caught his arm when Trowa started back towards the stairs. “Trowa, at least just look at me?”

He did and, like always, found himself lost in Duo’s eyes.

“I freaked out, and I’m sorry. I- Tro, I didn’t think you… I didn’t think you  _ liked _ me like that. Not after…”

Duo trailed off.

“Not after what?” Trowa had to ask.

Duo’s face flushed, and he rolled his eyes toward the sky.

“Not after you spent the summer hooking up - or  _ trying _ to hook up with everyone but me.”

_ “What? _ ” Trowa felt his face turn completely red.

“I mean- you- Tro, you know Heero’s been in love with you for years, and then you,” Duo waved his hand vaguely at Trowa’s crotch. “And then  _ Wufei _ and Meilin, and- and Hilde told me-”

“Of course she did,” Trowa muttered.

“She’s my best friend! She and Relena! And what the fuck - you don’t even  _ like _ Zechs!”

Trowa winced, at Duo’s raised voice, at the reminder that he really was a complete fucking idiot.

“And then… and then what? You’d made a mess of things with everyone else and I was your last pick?”

Duo sounded hurt, his voice hoarse, and Trowa met his gaze again.

“I thought- I thought  _ finally _ , Trowa noticed me.  _ Finally _ , Trowa wants me - but that wasn’t it, was it? You just- I was just the last one left behind, wasn’t I?”

“No!” The word exploded from Trowa forcefully. He grabbed Duo’s hand. “No. Duo-”

Fuck. What was Trowa supposed to say? How could he fix this?

“Duo, I’ve  _ always  _ noticed you. Ever since you cut off that guy on the turn when you were nine and he chased you across the beach.”

A smile tugged at one corner of Duo’s lips, but he fought against it.

“Duo, you- I’ve only ever wanted you.”

Duo frowned.

“Then why the hell-?”

“Because I’m an idiot. Because I didn’t think you would ever want me, and I-” Trowa sighed. He might as well just say it all. Might as well just confess how truly pathetic he was. “All of you are leaving me behind. I just… I wanted to matter. I wanted to mean something to them and you. I-”

“You are such a fucking  _ idiot _ ,” Duo hissed.

Trowa nodded in agreement. It was one of the reasons why he was stuck on the island - scraping through high school with Cs and a few Bs meant no scholarships, meant no chance to do anything other than a job at the Shell Station and, in the summers, lifeguard duty.

“You matter to all of us, Tro. You- Trowa, you  _ mean _ something. None of us are leaving you behind.”

Trowa opened his mouth to argue, but Duo spoke over him.

“We’re leaving the island, yeah, but we’re not leaving  _ you _ . You are always going to be our friend. You’re always going to be the idiot who jumped off the pier to save that fucking dog. You think any of us could forget that? Could forget you?”

Trowa sighed.

“But-”

“But nothing. And besides, we’re coming  _ back _ . Ro and I are only four hours away - we’ll be back every break, every long weekend. The rest of them will come back for winter break - for the summer. You aren’t losing us, Tro.”

Duo stepped closer, wrapped his arms around Trowa’s neck and used his thumbs to tilt Trowa’s face up so that they were looking in each other’s eyes again.

“And I’ve been in love with you since you hit that asshole with your surfboard and helped me get away from him. Tro- I’ve wanted you to kiss me for  _ years, _ and when you finally did-”

“I ruined everything.”

“No.  _ No _ . You just- you caught me by surprise. And there was all of the other shit, the you being a fucking idiot crap. I just- you know I’m not good with surprises.”

Trowa nodded in agreement.

“So… okay?”

Trowa frowned.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Just- I’m ready, this time. It won’t freak me out.”

Trowa stared at him for a long moment, trying to figure out what the fuck Duo was talking about. What-

_ Oh. _

It was different this time, so much better, and when Duo’s lips parted under Trowa’s, he could taste the ocean.

He wanted to drown in it, in Duo.

Trowa reached down, lifted Duo by the ass and hauled him up, changing the angle of the kiss, and Duo moaned in approval.

Of course, then Trowa lost his balance and staggered backwards.

They fell back onto the blankets and Duo laughed as he straightened up, straddling Trowa’s hips and looking down at him with bright eyes.

He looked over his shoulder, saw that their friends had gathered at the edge of the deck to see what the hell was going on, and he started to get up.

But Trowa reached out, grabbed Duo’s braid, and used it to haul him back down for another kiss.

“I don’t care if they’re watching. I’m not done with you yet.”

 

-o-

  
  
  
  



	29. Chapter 29

A/N: For Maevemauvaise, who requested #9, “No, no. Leave your clothes on.” With 6x2 (I also channeled some Grey’s for this, with the AU setting).

 

Warnings: angst, language, sex

Pairings: 6x2

  
  


The On Call Room was dark, and I sighed in gratitude as I closed and locked the door behind me.

“Thank fuck,” I muttered.

I was on hour twenty-three of a thirty-hour shift, and I had just finished a thirteen-hour surgery. Had just finished listening to Dr. Po tell a pregnant woman that her husband would probably never regain function of his left arm, would  _ maybe, _ with a  _ lot _ of work, be able to walk again after months, if not years, of physical therapy. She had cried, and Dr. Po had held her and rubbed her back, had reminded her that he was alive - and that was something.

It was something. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

I toed off my shoes, the hideous sneakers that I had reluctantly adopted as a first-year resident, two years ago, because there was no way in hell I could make it through an entire shift in loafers.

I started to pull off my shirt, but then I realized that the lower bunk was occupied.

Without the overhead light on, it was hard to see who it was, but the passing light of an ambulance illuminated the figure for a moment.

Zechs.

I sighed.

“You want me to go?”

Zechs Merquise, a surgical attending, God’s gift to cardio - according to himself - was an asshole. The kind of asshole who made his interns fetch coffee, who sneered at residents and taunted them for their mistakes.The kind of asshole who had made me tell a patient’s mother that he had died, had bled out on the table because I hadn’t been able to save his life - who only  _ later _ , when I was outside puking up my breakfast and lunch and wishing to God I could just die right then and there, only then did he tell me there was nothing I could have done. The kind of asshole who brought me coffee, out of the blue. The kind of asshole who tucked my hair behind my ear. The kind of asshole who hadn’t even bothered to say  _ thanks _ after the blowjob I had given him last week.

“No.” Zechs had taken his time answering, had sat up and, now that my eyes were adjusting to the low light, I could see he was looking at me as if considering which surgical approach to take.

“What?” I was too tired - too tired for this shit, to figure out what Zechs wanted from me or what  _ I _ wanted from Zechs.

“You’re in a mood.” There was amusement in Zechs’ voice, and I blushed, grateful that Zechs wouldn’t be able to see it.

“Yeah, well, I’ve had a shitty fucking day and there’s still seven more hours in it. I’ve got thirty minutes before I need to check in on Mr. Mendes, and I haven’t slept in-”

“You’ll survive,” Zechs interrupted, clearly bored. “Or you won’t.” Zechs sounded like he didn’t care one way or the other.

“Thanks for that heart-warming speech, Dr. Merquise. I feel like I could really go and take on the world now.”

Zechs chuckled, and despite my lethargy and irritation, I felt a glow of pride, and something else. 

I’d had Zechs laugh  _ at _ me more times than I really cared to admit. But making him laugh? That was something new. And this laugh - not his nasty,  _ what an idiot _ laugh, was rich and warm and made my skin tingle.

Zechs stood up, moving closer to me in the dark, until I was backed up against the door again. He braced his hands on either side of my head and looked down at me.

“How tired are you?”

The question might be concern - but this was Zechs. He didn’t give a fuck about my sleeping patterns.

“I’m not dead,” I told him, and reached for my shirt again, but his hand stayed mine, fisting into the fabric.

“No, no. Leave your clothes on.”

I frowned. I’d thought he wanted sex, but maybe-

He leaned down and kissed me, catching my question in his mouth, silencing me with his tongue. 

Forceful, demanding, impossible to please. Zechs as a surgeon really  _ was _ a god, and I had learned more from him than I probably even knew. Zechs as a lover, well. He wasn’t selfish, exactly, but he wanted the sex to be on  _ his _ terms, wanted my pleasure under  _ his _ control.

Yet another reason he was an asshole. But, considering the fact that he rarely left me unsatisfied, I couldn’t complain much. At least, not out loud.

I still wasn’t sure why he wanted me to keep my clothes on, though. Not if he was kissing me like he wanted to fuck my throat with his tongue.

He pulled back, and I could see the glint of his teeth as he smirked, could feel the puff of air from his self-satisfied little chuckle.

“Turn around.”

I did so, reluctantly, and he grabbed my braid - always with my damn braid - and wound it around his hand. Around and around and around, until he was pulling at the nape of my neck and I wanted to snap his wrist.

I was thinking about it, picturing it quite clearly, up until the moment he slipped his hand under my scrubs, under my shirt, and ran his smooth, talented fingers over my chest. He went for the nipple piercing on my right side, tugging at the barbell until I moaned and he chuckled again. He switched to the other side, where I had a small hoop, because I liked variety and symmetry was overrated anyway, and he fit his pinky through it, pulling the piercing as far away from my body as it would stretch, until I hissed in pain and irritation. 

“Someone should put you on a leash,” he said, as he pressed his lips to my throat.

The idea held some appeal to me. There was no denying that. But I didn’t imagine a life as Zechs’ pet would give me all that much pleasure. At least, not enough to balance out the millions of daily irritations.

He abandoned my nipples and ran his hand over my abs, raking my skin with his short nails, and I sucked in a breath. He knew how much I liked that - had found that out the first time we fucked, when I was a first-year resident and he was just a fellow.

His hand slid to the waistband of my scrubs, toying with the elastic.

“Zechs,” I warned him.

“Hm?” He didn’t do innocent very well, which he knew. 

“I’m too fucking tired for you to keep teasing me. Fuck, or whatever you want, but get on with it.”

Zechs laughed, his breath warm against my neck.

“You really are tired. Not even bothering to show me the respect I deserve.”

I swallowed hard. Okay, so yeah, I liked it when he talked like that. Liked it a  _ lot _ . 

But he gave me what I wanted, smoothed his hand between my boxers and my skin and palmed my erect cock.

“So eager. So willing. I wish I had more time so I could give you the fucking you so clearly need.”

He slapped my ass, hard, and I winced. I winced and I moaned, and I hated myself just a little bit more.

Zechs fit his hand around properly, pulling the skin of my shaft up and then pushing it down before he ran his thumb over my head, pressuring the slit in the way that he  _ knew _ made me squirm.

“Fuck,” I breathed. 

“What was that?” he demanded, though we both knew he had heard me the first time.

“Fuck,” I repeated, louder. “As in  _ fuck _ that felt really fucking good.”

He laughed again and started, finally, to stroke my cock in earnest. 

I leaned my forehead against the door and closed my eyes, trying to focus solely on the sensation of his hand on my flesh.

He kept his pace slow, as if he wanted to drive me insane.

Hell, there was no  _ as if _ about it. 

So I started to thrust into his hand, tried to force him to move faster, to pump my cock harder.

He just laughed, but he didn’t try to stop me.

“What are you doing Friday night?” he asked me.

“What?” I was working so hard to get myself off, trying  _ so _ damn hard to just come already so that I could, maybe, get fifteen minutes of sleep, that I wasn’t really paying attention to him anymore.

“Friday night. You aren’t on call. Do you have plans?”

“Probably not.” Aside from sleep. Well, drinking and  _ then _ sleeping. A lot of both.

“Come over to my place.”

“And- and do what?” He had never invited me over, and I’d never invited  _ him _ over to the two bedroom apartment I shared with Heero, another resident.

“I want to cook for you. And I want you to stay the night. I want to fall asleep with you in my arms.”

And that was the last thing I heard before I came, before I bit into my own fist to keep from making too much noise, before I felt semen spill over Zechs’ hand and stick to my scrubs.

My fucking scrubs.

I pushed him off of me, wincing when he pulled my hair, and I angrily flicked on the overhead light.

Sure enough, there it was. A huge fucking wet-spot on the front of my scrubs. It looked like I’d pissed myself. Or came in my pants.

I glared at Zechs, but he was completely unrepentant. In fact, he fucking  _ smirked _ at me.

He looked at his watch, some fancy thing that he had inherited from his father.

“It looks like you’ve got seven minutes to find a change of clothes before you need to check in on Mr. Mendes.”

“Fuck you!”

I didn’t even have my fucking lab coat.

I looked around the room, spotted the latest copy of  _ The Lancet _ that had gone missing from the research library, and I held it in front of me.

I’d look like a fucking idiot, but it was better than nothing.

I wrenched the door open.

“I’ll have dinner ready for eight,” Zechs called after me as I stormed out.

“Go to hell,” I called over my shoulder, earning looks from the nurses I walked past.

But as soon as I was back in the locker room, raiding Heero’s locker for the spare scrubs I knew he had, I sighed.

And pulled out my phone.

**I need your address.**

 

-o-

  
  
  



	30. Afterlight

Warnings: angst, language, sex (ish)

Pairings: ?x?

 

I woke up slowly, aware that the sheets had been shoved down and were now tangled around my ankles, aware that it was still dark out and only the faintest light from a street lamp filtered through the curtained window, aware that I was alone.

I reached out, my eyes still closed and face still buried in the pillow, and felt nothing but cold, empty space beside me.

I opened my eyes, blinking away the last vestiges of sleep, and looked at the glowing face of the alarm.

2:45

I sighed and scrubbed at my face.

It was earlier than I had thought. 

I kicked at the sheets until I was free and then rose from the bed, wincing when my bare feet encountered the cold, hardwood floor.

I found him in the guest room that we had converted into a library, that he smirkingly insisted on calling the  _ study. _

The light from a datapad illuminated his face and shoulders, the blue light casting a faint glow over his pale skin and making him seem gaunt and fragile.

I walked over to him, my feet nearly silent on the floor.

Nearly, but not entirely. I saw his shoulders tense as one of the wooden slats underfoot gave a minute creak of protest.

I continued to his side, stopping when I came to the armchair he had curled himself into.

“I woke you,” he sighed in apology.

“No.”

Although maybe he had - like him, I was a light sleeper, and there was every chance I had heard him and woken up.

I glanced at the datapad screen and had to arch an eyebrow.

I wasn't surprised by the fact that he was watching porn. I  _ was _ surprised, however, to see what kind of porn it was.

He hadn't paused it, and I watched as a dark-skinned man, his eyes covered by a blindfold, his hands and feet spread wide and secured by chains and his mouth held open by some kind of gag, was fucked by four men - all taking turns putting their cocks in his ass and mouth while he moaned helplessly.

The volume was so low I could barely hear anything - but the faint slaps of flesh on flesh and grunts of pleasure were unmistakable, and all too easy for me to fill in for myself.

I wasn't sure what to say - what he even  _ wanted _ me to say.

I looked away from the screen and saw that he was watching me, waiting for a reaction.

I perched on the arm of his chair, letting my hip rest against the back of his neck. 

He held himself still for a moment, but then he turned slightly and leaned his cheek against my thigh.

I let the fingers of my left hand graze over his bangs, and when he shivered in pleasure, I started to comb them through his hair.

“Do you want me to tie you up again?”

He shook his head in the negative.

The  _ last _ time we had tried that he had panicked, had to started to cry and dry heave, and locked himself in the bathroom for half an hour before letting me in to comfort him.

“No,” he said in a ragged whisper. “I can't.”

I wasn't surprised by his answer, but I did still wonder about his choice of viewing materials.

“I don't understand it,” he admitted.

He tilted his head back so he could look up at me in the wavering light from the datapad.

His throat, pale and taut, was exposed completely by the movement.

“It doesn't arose you,” I pointed out, sparing a glance towards his groin.

His cock was soft, nestled against the dark curls of his pubic hair.

“No,” he agreed. “But it distracts me.”

I nodded at that answer. That, at least, made sense.

“What was it this time?”

“The nightmare?” His lips twisted, and he shook his head. “Just the same old shit from the war. All the things I could have done better. All of the- all of it.”

I ran my fingers over his cheek and jaw, and then across his neck, tracing the veins just below the pale skin.

“All the things we can never forget,” I murmured.

His eyes, fathomless in the dim light, held mine.

I had to look away, and my eyes landed on the datapad again. The men were taking turns ejaculating on the bound man’s face, letting rivulets of semen drip down his cheeks and lips.

“Let me distract you instead,” I suggested, still watching the video.

I could feel him turn his head, could feel the drag of his lips over my bare thigh, and I heard his shallow intake of breath as he saw my erection.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, and I looked back down at his face.

“For what?” I had to ask. 

“I know you… You  _ enjoy _ that kind of sex. And I…”

“I enjoy  _ sex _ ,” I corrected. “Sex with  _ you _ .” I glanced at the screen one last time, and then took the datapad out of his hands. I turned the screen off and set it aside. 

The room plunged into almost total darkness. I regretted not being able to see his face clearly, but some things were simply easier in the dark. 

“I don’t care that you don’t enjoy being tied up or that you don’t like rough sex.”

He snorted. 

“It’s a little more than me  _ not enjoying _ it.”

“Yes. And you have good reason to feel the way that you do. But it’s nothing you should apologize for. Nothing you need to be ashamed of.”

He sighed and rubbed his cheek against my thigh, as if trying to burrow into me.

“Come back to bed.” I tugged on his hair, pulling just enough, just in the way he enjoyed. “Come back to bed, and let me show you just how very much I enjoy  _ our _ kind of sex.”

I stood up and held out my hand to him, waiting until he took it.

I led him back to our bed, laid him down and slowly, tenderly, coaxed his fears and despair away.

Not too far away - not  _ gone _ , but far enough away that, after he moaned my name and clung to me in release, he curled up around my body and fell back asleep.

None of it - the past, the present, our fears and regrets, our wishes and dreams - would ever leave us in peace.

But there were times, when he clung to me as if I was the universe’s source of gravity, when fighting against  _ all of it _ was worth it.

  
  


-o-

  
  
  
  
  
  



	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a 6x2 drabble from Tumblr
> 
> Written for Crown of Winterthorne as part of Bribery Thursdays

A/N: A tumblr drabble from Bribery Thursdays for crown of winterthorne

A/N2: Thanks to Ro for beta reading!!! This version, not the tumblr version which I frantically typed on my phone.

Warnings: not really?

Pairings: 6x2

 

The red box sat on his desk, small and dark and so innocuous that if Duo hadn’t had a former career making things and people explode, he might have overlooked it.

But he had, and he didn’t.

It was the first thing he noticed when he got back from his morning run and walked into his office to start writing.

And there it was. Small enough to fit in the palm of his hand if he dared to pick it up, red velvet covering dark enough that it reminded Duo a little too vividly of blood.

Duo finished his glass of water and put it down on the desk before sitting down in his chair.

He stared at the box, steepling his fingers and considering just what the fuck could be inside.

And why the fuck it was on his desk.

“Do you plan on opening it, or just glaring at it until it vanishes?”

The question was delivered in a mild voice, but Duo could hear the underlying tension, the uncertainty.

He turned in his chair and saw Zechs in the doorway, leaning against it, naked except for the towel wrapped low around his waist. His hair was wet and draped over one shoulder, rivulets of water trailing over his bare chest and drawing Duo’s gaze there.

Zechs cleared his throat, and Duo gave him a smirk.

“Sorry. Got distracted.”

Zechs’s lips twitched and his eyes grew warm, but he didn’t let Duo deflect him for long. He nodded towards the box.

“What… why?” Duo had to ask, trying to buy himself some time.

“Do I need a reason?”

Duo snorted. That was a manipulative answer - and one he should have expected.

“Valentine’s Day was two days ago,” he pointed out. The day had come and gone with no mention from either of them. Duo had long-ago expressed his loathing for the ‘holiday’, and Zechs had indulged him, agreeing to forego any gifts or romantic gestures for the last three years.

“I am aware,” Zechs said.

He finally stepped into the room, Duo’s room - his office - the one place where Duo preferred Zechs stay away from.

Duo didn’t tell him to leave - Zechs would, always had when Duo had asked or hinted at needing to be alone before.

He wasn’t even sure he COULD open the damn box without Zechs right there, in any case.

Zechs stopped beside Duo’s chair, keeping space between them, nearby but not looming.

“Open it,” Zechs prompted, the command soft.

Maybe Duo was too used to obeying Zechs when he was naked or nearly so, but Duo’s nerves eased somewhat and he reached out and finally lifted up the box.

It was soft and hard at the same time, supple, and Duo had the rather inappropriate thought that the velvet felt like Zechs’s cock.

He ran his finger over the seam and then cautiously opened it.

There was a glint, and Duo’s nerves returned. Nevertheless, he eased it all the way open.

And sighed in relief.

It wasn’t a ring.

Thank fuck.

But it  _ was _ jewelry.

Dark silver metal and glittering with blue stones on a thin chain worked into an intricate braid.

“What-”

“A bracelet. The stones are Martian Diamonds, the metal-”

“Gundanium.” Duo didn’t need Zechs to tell him that part.

“Shall I put it on you?”

Duo’s mouth went dry.

Zechs liked gifts, liked to give Duo things and liked to spoil him, to treat him like the worthy beloved of an aristocrat. And Duo, after all this time, still worried that he was too dirty for any of it, for  _ him _ .

“I…”

“You don’t like it.”

“No, no! It’s beautiful. Really.”

It was also the only jewelry Zechs had ever given him.

“I don’t want to break it. Or ruin it. Or-”

Zechs plucked the box from Duo’s hand and started to unfasten the bracelet.

“It’s Gundanium. You can’t break it. The only way you can ruin it is to launch it into the sun. Hold out your left hand.”

And again, Duo found himself obeying.

Zechs’s strong, elegant fingers traced over his skin and settled the cold stones and steel into place.

“Perfect.”

Duo looked up to see Zechs smirking, eyes warm again.

“I…”

Zechs leaned down and pressed a kiss to Duo’s lips.

“I love you too,” the blond haired man said.

And then he left Duo alone in his office, stunned and mesmerized by the gift.

 


	32. Cocktail Friday: Hot Toddies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Cocktail Friday on Tumblr 11/17

Trowa was exhausted, mentally and physically, and he was cold. And he felt so done.

It wasn’t even tech week yet - in fact, they still had to get through the entire weekend and THEN start tech week.

But this show had been a clusterfuck of epic proportions from the first production meeting and, with each passing week, had only picked up momentum.

It was fine. Everything was going to be fine.

That had become the mantra of the entire production staff, as each day seemed to bring more bizarre requests, more realizations that the director was ABSOLUTELY insane and had no grasp of reality and, it was becoming increasingly obvious, no real understanding of the play he was directing.

It wasn’t even a complicated show. Well, it shouldn’t have been a complicated show. Anything Goes - just a tap show on a giant boat. The plot was simple, the music was classic. The set…

The set was a bit of a challenge, because the show transitioned from one ship cabin to another to another and there were scenes on the main deck and scenes in the brig and -

So the scenery was complicated.

And Trowa had entered the project with the kind of regrettable enthusiasm that meant he had designed a four storey set with build in revolves and periaktoi and -

And he was tired. He was fairly certain he had pulled a muscle in his back.

And the weather had changed, his train had been late, and he had had yet another not quite argument with the lighting designer before leaving the theatre that night.

Now that he was home, standing in the hall outside of his apartment and fumbling in his pocket for the keys, Trowa tried to decide what was more important.

Going to bed straight away, taking a shower so hot he maybe - hopefully - boiled himself to death, or getting drunk.

He would regret getting drunk, in the morning, when he had to crawl out of bed in the frigid November morning and go back to the theatre with a hangover and try to not vomit while he painted four stories of steel. Because he was an IDIOT. Four stories weren’t even NECESSARY.

But tonight… tonight he could drink and forget about what an idiot he was and what an asshole the lighting designer was and what a maniac the director was and -

He opened the door and sighed.

It was warm inside the apartment. Practically toasty.

When he had left that morning, he had cranked the thermostat down to sixty-five, and he had been dreading coming home to the cold apartment and shivering while he waited for it to heat back up to seventy.

The apartment definitely wasn’t sixty-five. It wasn’t even seventy.

It felt very suspiciously warmer.

Which meant -

“I was starting to worry you had moved out.”

Zechs was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back into a loose tail, socked feet looking disconcertingly casual, washing dishes.

The dishes that Trowa had allowed to pile up over the last three days, because leaving at 8am and getting home at midnight had left him with no energy to even keep up with his coffee mugs.

“You’re back early.”

It was an entirely unnecessary thing to say, and Zechs smirked at him.

“So it seems.”

“Is that… a good thing or a bad thing?”

Trowa didn’t pretend to know anything about the world of high-end finance that Zechs worked in.

“A good thing. A VERY good thing,” Zechs smirked again and shut off the water.

He leaned back against the kitchen counter as he dried his hands and his gaze swept over Trowa.

“You’re a mess,” he said, smirk softening into a tender expression.

When they had first met, Trowa had thought Zechs was an arrogant, self-centered, vain asshole. And while his first impression was completely accurate, Zechs had surprised him by having another side. He had been the first to suggest their one-night stand turned five month late night dates and incredible sex become something more permanent. Had been the first to say anything about love. Had been the one to ask Trowa to move in. Had been the one to propose two months ago, anxious and unsure for the first time in the three years Trowa had known him.

“I know,” Trowa sighed and started to take off his jacket. “This show -” he shook his head and stopped himself.

Zechs had heard all about it, through Trowa’s texts and their late night phone calls. Zechs had been in Munich all week, had been scheduled to be there until Tuesday, the day before the first preview of Anything Goes. Trowa had been both relieved and disappointed. He knew he was awful to be around during tech weeks, when he lost track of time and, according to Zechs, forgot how to interact with human beings. Zechs being out of town meant that Trowa didn’t do or say something that would upset them both. It also meant that he came home to a cold, empty apartment and even colder, emptier bed.

Zechs set down the towel and crossed to Trowa. He used one long, elegant finger to tip Trowa’s chin up and then leaned down and pressed a light kiss to his lips.

“I missed you,” Zechs said.

Trowa sighed again and leaned forward, resting his head against Zechs’s chest and letting the taller man hold him.

It had taken a very long time for him to feel comfortable in this position, to trust someone else to care enough, to trust HIMSELF enough to want someone else to care.

Zechs threaded his fingers through Trowa’s hair and Trowa winced. He hadn’t showered in two days, and he could feel Zechs’s fingers tangle in the paint spatters that clung to his hair.

Zechs just chuckled and pressed another kiss to Trowa’s forehead.

“Go change. I’ll make you a hot toddy.”

“You don’t mind?”

Zechs had to be exhausted, had to be jet lagged and he had always placed a high value on sleep and -

“No. I don’t mind. Go.” He gave Trowa a gentle nudge.

Trowa rolled his eyes, but he followed the command.

He went into their bedroom and shucked out of his paint stained clothes, grimacing as he had to pull his t-shirt away from his skin, at the tug of the dried paint sticking to his flesh.

He tossed the clothes aside and pulled on sweatpants and Zechs’s Columbia t-shirt, a shirt that Trowa had stolen very early on in their relationship. Zechs hadn’t said a word about the theft, but every time Trowa wore it around him, Zechs smirked and got very handsy.

When he went back into the living room, Zechs was setting a tray down on the coffee table. It held two copper mugs, a steaming kettle of water, slices of lemon and the decanter of expensive whiskey that they only pulled out for special occassions and visits from Zechs’s father.

Trowa sat down on the couch and accepted the copper mug that Zechs handed him. He added the whiskey himself, adding far more than he needed to, but when he took the first sip he sighed in contentment.

Zechs sat down on the couch beside him, draping one arm on the back of the couch, and Trowa leaned into him.

“I missed you too,” he admitted.

“I know,” Zechs smirked and kissed him again.

-o-

The end


	33. Cocktail Friday: Paradise Gimlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Cocktail Friday 11/10

A/N: For Cocktail Friday on Tumblr, this week a photo prompt of two divine cocktails on a beach at sunset.

 

A/N2: Always thanks to Kangofu-CB for support and friendship and ideas and wonderful everything.

 

A/N3: Also I will forever be grateful to Ro, who is the best of beta readers and an amazing friend - and a fucking fantastic writer. 

 

A/N4: Just a post-canon Drabble

 

Warnings: language

 

Pairings: 2x3

 

_ Paradise Gimlet _

 

Trowa was glad he had stopped by his room and changed first.

 

The ‘casual’ dress code at the beachside hotel bar seemed to be someone’s idea of a joke.

 

Then again,  _ casual _ at one of the most exclusive resorts in Dubai likely had an entirely different meaning than what Trowa considered casual.

 

Jeans and a t-shirt would have likely gotten him escorted off the premises. His gray trousers and lavender button-up shirt, however, seemed to pass inspection. He had left the top few buttons undone and rolled up his sleeves, and as he looked around the cafe tables arrayed on the pristine white sand, he sighed in relief.

 

He didn’t stand out too badly, even though he was keenly aware of the fact that he didn’t belong in this world at  _ all _ .

 

Trowa had been doing undercover work since before he really even knew what it  _ was _ , but there were some roles he still felt uncomfortable in.

 

Rich bastard enjoying a weekend in Dubai was definitely one of them.

 

It only took a few minutes of idly scanning the early evening crowd before he spotted his mark.

 

Trowa took his time making the approach, however. He sidled up to the bar and ordered a gimlet, letting half of his attention linger on the bartender’s clever hands, and the other half focus on his mark.

 

The man was sitting a little ways apart, at a table closer to the pool than the surf. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, and he looked both completely at home among the other patrons, and at the same time, uniquely out of place.

 

He wore tan linen trousers and a black linen shirt, sleeves rolled up and the front completely open, exposing lean, pale flesh and an assortment of tattoos and scars.

 

Trowa took a sip of his drink, complimented the bartender and provided his room number, and then started to make his way towards the man.

 

“Mind if I join you?”

 

The man looked up, eyes impossible to read behind the glasses, but the slow, heated smirk that curved his lips said plenty.

 

“There’s an empty table just over there,” he said.

 

Trowa shrugged one shoulder.

 

“I like the view here better.”

 

The man snorted a laugh, and made a grand gesture.

 

Trowa sat down in the seat beside him and stretched his legs out, letting their bare feet tangle together in the sand.

 

The man’s smirk lost some of its edge.

 

They sat in silence together, enjoying the last, fiery rays of sunlight and their drinks.

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever met an informant at a hotel that charges more than a thousand credits a night before,” Trowa said eventually.

 

The man laughed again.

 

“Well, I’m special.”

 

Trowa could agree with that.

 

The man turned to him and shrugged, a sinuous, sensuous roll of his shoulders that had Trowa looking at his exposed chest and thinking about things that had  _ nothing _ to do with Preventers Intelligence gathering.

 

“Besides, last time I saw you, you looked like shit. I figured you could use a vacation.”

 

The last time they had met had been two months ago, in a dive bar on the moon, and Trowa had just come off a six-month-long mission that had left him feeling raw and empty.

 

“I’m only booked for one night. Preventers doesn't have an endless budget for me to burn through.”

 

The man folded his arms on the table and leaned close, tilting his head down so that Trowa could just make out a glimmer of indigo behind the sunglasses.

 

“Not even for me?” He lowered his voice and ran his foot under the hem of Trowa’s trousers, over his calf. “Not even for intel on Zechs’s little Martian empire?”

 

Trowa felt his breath catch.

 

That’s what they had been waiting for.

 

It was what the entire setup had been about. Five years of undercover work. And finally,  _ finally, _ it was going to pay off.

 

“You got an in?” Trowa asked, knowing he sounded a little breathless, not knowing how much of it was at the prospect of finally having dirt on the Lightning Count, and how much was because of his arousal as the man’s foot started to tease his inner thigh.

 

“Mmhm. You’re looking at his new delivery pilot.”

 

_ That _ was good news. It was also dangerous news.

 

“Duo-”

 

The man lifted one hand and pressed a finger to Trowa’s lips.

 

“Nah-uh. We agreed. You don’t worry about me dying, and I don’t worry about you getting yourself killed.”

 

Trowa swallowed back the words he had been about to say.

 

The finger lingered on his lips, and Trowa gave into temptation.

 

He opened his mouth and drew the finger in, laving at it with his tongue until the man shuddered.

 

“You know,” he said, slowly drawing his finger out of Trowa’s mouth, “you might only be booked for the one night, but I’ve got myself a fancy ass suite for an entire week while I wait for his highness’s shuttle to get upgraded. Why don’t I show you to my room?”

 

-o-

  
  



	34. Cocktail Friday: Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Cocktail Friday (12/1) on Tumblr.
> 
> Featuring some 1x2

A/N: Response to the Cocktail Friday prompt on Tumblr. 

A/N: Thank you, as always, to Ro for editing!

  
  


_ Sunset _

  
  


They clinked the beer bottles together, the sound echoing out over the empty landscape that surrounded them.

 

“Happy Birthday?” Duo said, raising his bottle in a salute.

 

Heero arched an eyebrow at him.

 

“Whose birthday is it?”

 

Duo shrugged.

 

“I dunno. Maybe it’s mine? Maybe it’s yours? Maybe it’s your dad’s or it’s my dad’s.”

 

Heero shook his head and took a sip of the beer, letting the cool rush pool on his tongue before swallowing.

 

It wasn’t bad. Not that he had much to compare it with. 

 

Somehow, developing a discerning palate in regards to  _ anything _ other than weapons and data hacking hadn’t been a focus of his training.

 

Duo made a face, though, as he drank a long swallow of his own beer.

 

“Ugh. Light and fruity, my ass.”

 

Heero smirked, and started to open his mouth.

 

“Don’t,” Duo warned, holding up a finger, “not if you want  _ near _ my ass again.”

 

Heero settled back into his folder chair, still smirking.

 

They sat in silence, slowly drinking their beers, watching the sun set over the canyon.

 

Heero had never seen anything like it.

 

It felt like he and Duo were the only people left in the universe, like nothing and no one else mattered. And the sun, blazing as brightly as any battlefield explosion, was slowly slipping beyond the horizon, leaving the sky streaked with reds and oranges, curling into the lavenders and blues of twilight.

 

It was was gorgeous.

 

It was  _ almost _ peaceful.

 

“Why ‘Happy Birthday’?” Heero asked Duo as he collected their empty bottles and pulled out two new, cold bottles from the cooler.

 

“Dunno. Felt like we needed to toast something?”

 

“It’s beer, not champagne,” Heero pointed out.

 

“Yeah. Sure.” Duo rolled his shoulders in a defensive shrug. “It just felt… It felt like the moment needed to be captured.”

 

Heero realized his teasing had forced Duo to reveal too much.

 

For a man who was painfully honest, Duo hated being cornered into saying things sometimes, into admitting how he really felt.

 

Heero held up his new bottle, waiting until Duo looked over, sighed, and raised his own.

 

“To us,” Heero said. 

 

Duo’s lips twisted as he considered the words, the possibility.

 

“Yeah,” he finally said, and a cautious smile curved his mouth as he touched his beer to Heero’s. “To us.”

 

-o-

  
  



End file.
